The prairie-bird

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PBAIRIE-BIRD.

BT TH£ HON.

CflARlES AUGUSTUS MURRAY

II

AVTfioB or

TRAVELSJN NORTH AMERICA.'

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Ferdinand. Most sure the goddess

On whom these am attend —

My prime requecft
Whidh r do last pronottitoe is, O you wonder,
' If yon be maid or no 1

Miranda. No wonder, sir,

But certainly a maid.

My language, Heavens !

TempUi^ ai9t i

NE^W YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

83 CLIPF STREET.

1849.

P K E F A E.

"* I uTi a Preface !" Such will probably
be the reader's exclamation on opening this
volume. I will, however, pursue the sub-
ject a little farther in the Torm nf a dialogue.

AulSor. " I entirely agree in your dislike
of a Preface ; for a good book needa none,
and a dull book cannot be mended b^ it."

Reader. "If, then, you coincide in my
opinion, why write a Preface 1 Judging
from appearances, your book is long enough
without one !"

A. " Do not be too severe 1 it ia precisely
because the road which we propose to
travel together is of considerable extent,
that I wish to warn you at the outset of
the nature of the scenery, and the enter-
taitunent you are likely to meet with, in
Older that you may, if thesd afford you
no attraction, turn aside and* se^'Jiet^r-
amusement and occupation elsejrtiiVe.^' ■/

R "That seems plausible ennnt;)] ; vnt,
how can I be assured thii Hiv r.'.-aiH -.i-|]l
fulfil your promise T" libAcs (iiivi.Ikd jn
a Btage-coach, wherein was" ^ijijn'iiJiJd, br
the benefit of passengers, a coloured print
of the watering-place which was our des-
tination; (t represented a magnificent hotel,
with extensive gardens and shrubberies,
throi^h the shady walks of which, gayly
attired parlies were promenading on horse-
back and on foot. When we arrived, I
found myself at a large, square, unsightly
inn by the sea-side, where neither flower,
shrub, nor tree was to be seen ; and on in-
quiry, I was informed that the print r^
resented the hotel as the proprietor in-
tmded it lo bt! Suppose I were to meel
with a simUar disappointment in my Jour-
ney with you !"

A. "I can at least offer you this comfort ;
that whereas yon could not have got out
of the stage half way on the road without

much inconvenience, yon can easiljr lay
down the book whenever yon find it be-
coming tedious ; if you seek for amuse-

been to afford you correct information re-
specting the habits, condition, and charac-
ter of the North American Indians and
those bordering on their territory. I have
introduced, also, several incidents founded
on actual occurrences ; and some of tbeniii
as well as of the characters, are aketcbed
from personal observation."

R. "Indeed! you are then the individual
who resided with the Pawnees, and pub-
lished, a few years since, your Travels in
North America. I suppose we may ex-
pect is this volume a sort of pot-poum,
fqmpoa^ of ail the notes, anecdotes, and
pipepl^lions which you could not conve-
niently squeeze into your former book 1"
: U. .((aotin^. ralker foolUh). . " Although
tlM terms fa which you have worded your
conjecture iK not the most flattenng, I
own that it is not altogether without found-
ation; nevertheless, gentle reader— "

R. " Spare your epithets of endearment;
or, at least, reserve them until I have sat-
isfied myself that I can reply in a similar

A. " Nay, it is too churlish to censure a
harmless courtesy that has been adopted
even by the greatest dramatists and novel-
ists from the time of Shakspeare to the
present day." .,

R, " It may be so ; permit me, however,
to request, in the words of one of those
dramatists to whom you refer, that yon
wUl be BO obliging as to

AbI Id m* know tb sdnUn ofl^ Mis

SS!f*

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• ••••••• ••

• • • • • •• • • • •

, • • o • *•* • • • • • • •

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

CHAPTER I.

feiwliieh the readw will find a ikefbh of a rlU^fe In the
West, and will be introdaeed to sonie of the Jraaatis

I

Thxbi is, perhaps, no country in the world
more favoured, in respect to natunl advanta-
ges, than the State of Ohio in North America :
the soil is of inexhaustible fertility ; the climate
temperate ; the rivers, flowing into Lake Erie
to the north, and through l^e Ohio into the
Mississippi to the south-west, ar^ navigable for
many hacdreds of miles, the forests abound
with the finest timber, and even the bowels of
the earth pay, in various Kinds of mineral, abun-
dant contribctioQ to the general wealth: the
BOQthem frontier of the State is bounded by the
noble river from which she derives her name,
and which obtained from the early French tra-
ders and missionaries the well-deserved appel-
lation of " La Belle Riviere."

Towns and cities are now multiplying upon
its banks ; the axe has laid low vast tracts of
its forests ; the plough has passed over many
thousand acres of the prairies which it fertil-
ized; and crowds of steamboats, laden with
goo^s, manufactures, and passengers from eve-
ry part of the world, urge their busy way
through its waters.

Far different was the appearance and condi*
tion of that region at the period when the events
detailed in the following narrative occurred.
The reader must bear in mind that, at the close
of the last century, the vast tracts Of forest and
prairie now forming the States of Ohio, Indiana,
and Illinois, were all included in what was then
called the North-west Territory : it was still in-
habited by numerous bands of Indian tribes, of
which the most powerful were the Lenape or
Delawares, the Shawanona^ the Miamies, and
the Wyandots or Hurons.

I|ere and there, at favourable positions on
the navigable rivers, were trading posts, defend-
ed by small forts, to which the Indians brought
their skins of bear, deer, bison, and beaver ;
receiving in exchange, powder, rifles, paint,
hatchets, knives, blankets, and other articles,
which, although unknown to their forefathers,
had become to them, through their intercourse
with the whites, numbered among the necessa-
ries of life. But the above-mentioned animals,
especially the last two, were already scarce in
this region ; and the more enterprising of the
hunters, Indian as well as white men, made
annual excursions to the wild and boundless
hunting-ground, westward of the Mississippi.

At the close of the eighteenth century, the
villages and settlements on the north bank of
the Ohio, being scarce and far apart, were built,
rather for the purpose of trading with the In

I an^ their inhabitants were as bold and baniy,
sometimes as wil^ and lawless, as the red meo«
with whom they were beginning to dispute th«
soU.

Nnmeroos quarrels arose between these wast-
em settlers and their Indian neighbours; blood
was frequently shed, and fierce retaliation en-
sued, which ended in open hostility. The half-
disoiplined militia, aided sometimes by regular
troops, invaded and burnt the Indian village« ;
while the red men, seldom able to cope with
their enemy in the open field, cut ofi* detached
parties, massacred unprotected families, and so
swiA and indiscriminate was their revenge, that
settlements, at some distance from the scene
of war, were often aroused at midnight by the
unexpected alarm of the war-whoop and the
firebrand. There were occasions, however,
when the Indians boldly attacked and defeated
the troops sent against them; but General
Wayne, having taken the command of the west-
em forces (about four years before the com-
mencement of our tale), routed them at the bat-
tle of the Miamies with great slaughter ; after
which many of them went oflf to the Missam
plains, and those who remained, no more ven-
tured to appear in the field against the United
States.

One of the earliest trading posts established
in that region was Marietta, a pretty village
situated at the mouth of the Muskingum river,
where it falls into the Ohio. Even so far back
as the year 1799 it boasted a church, several
taverns, a strong block-house, serving as a pro-
tection against an attack from the Indians*
stores for the sale of grocery ; and, in short,
such a collection of buildings as has, in more
than one instance in the western states of
America, grown into a city with unexampled
rapidity.

This busy and flourishing village had taken
the lead, of all others within a hundred miles,
in the construction of vessels for the navigation
of the Ohio and Mississippi ; nay, some of the
more enterprising merchants there settled, had
actually built, launched, and freighted brigs and
schooners of sufiicient burthen to brave the seas
in the Mexican gulf; and had opened, in their
little inland port, a direct trade with the West'
Indian islands, to which they exported flour,
pork, maize, and other articles, their vessels
returning laden with fruit, coffee, sugar, and
rum.

The largest store in the village, situated' in
the centre of a row of houses fronting the river,
was built of brick, and divided into several
compartments, wherein were to be found all
the necessaries of life,— all such at least as
were called for by the inhabitants of Marietta
and its neighbourhood ; one of these compart-

dians tiian for agriculture or civilked industry ; | meats was crowded with skins and iiirs from

M78916

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•THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

the Noh&vwest, ^dlTiOtK dodlhes, cottons, and
woollen stufis, from Englanil ; the second with
•arlh^^flO'e] ,T$i:^f<BJ7» * mivrois^ rin^s, stoves,
f^aies^i^/;* ^l(^e m die t2iird,^;^i^b was cer-
t&ai&yth*e most tVequentecl,* were s&ld flour, tea,
sugar, rum, whiskey, gunpowder, spices, cured
pork, &c. ; and in a deep corner or recess of the
matter was a trap^door, not very often opened,
hut which led to a cellar, wherein was stored a
reasonable quantity of Madeira and claret, the
quality of which would not have disgraced the
best hotel in Philadelphia.

Over this multifarious pro[|erty on sale, pre-
sided David Muir, a bony, long-armed man of
about forty-five years of age, wbose red, bristly
hair, prominent cheek bones, and sharp, sunken
gray eyes, would, without the confirming evi-
dence of his broad Scottish accent, have indi-
cated to an experienced observer the cojintxy
to which he owed his birth. In the duties of
his employment, David was well seconded by
his lidpmate, — a tiUl, powerful woman, whose
features, though strong and masculine, retained
the marks of early beauty, and whose voice,
when raised in wrath, reached the ears of every
individual, even in the farthest compartment of
the extensive store above described.

David was a shrewd, enterprising fellow, trust-
worthy in matters of business, and peaceable
enough in temper ; though in more than one af-
tray, which had arisen in consequence of some
of his customers, whiiemen and Indians, having
taken on the spot too much of his ** fire-water,"
he had shown that he was not to be affronted
with impunity ; nevertheless in the presence of
Mrs. Christie (so was his spouse called) he was
gentle and subdued, never attempting to rebel
against an authority which an experience of
twenty years had proved to be irresistible ; one
only child, aged now about eighteen, was the
fruit of their marriage ; and Jessie Muir was
certainly more pleasing in her manners and in
her appearance than might have been expected
from her parentage ; she assisted her mother in
cooking, baking, and other domestic duties, and,
when not tl\us engaged, read or worked in a
corner of the cotton and silk compartment over
which she presided ; two lads, engaged at a
salary of four dollars a week, to assist in the
sale, care, and package of the goods, completed
David's establishment, which was perhaps the
largest and the best provided that could be found
westward of the Alleghany mountains.

It must not be supposed, however, that all
this property was his own : it belonged for the
most part to Colonel Brandon, a gentleman who
resided on his farln, seven or eight miles from
the village, and who entrusted David Muir with
the entire charge of the stores in Marietta ; the

gocounta of the business were regularly audited
y the colonel once every year, and a fair share
of the profits as regularly made over to DaVid,
whose accuracy and integrity had given much
satisfaction to his princip^.

Three of the largest trading vessels from the
port of Marietta were owned and freighted by
Oolonel Brandon ; the command and manage-
ment of them being entrusted by him to Edward
Ethelston, a young man who, being now in his
twenty-eighth year, dis«>harged the duty of cap-
tain and supercargo with the neatest steadiness,
ability, and success.

As young Ethelston and family will occupy a
considerable place in our narrative, it may be
as well to*detail briefly the circumstances which
led to his enjoying so large a share of the colo-
ners affection and confidence.

About eleven years before the date mentioned
as being that of the oommencement of our tale.
Colonel Brandon, having sold his property in
Virginia, had moved to the Northwest Territo-
ry, with his wife and his two children, Reginald
and Lucy; he<b4d persuaded, at the sametjne,
a Virginian friend, Digby Ethelston, who, like
himself, was descended from an ancient reyalist
family in the mother country, to accompany him
in this migration; the feelings, associations,
and prejudices of both the fKends had been
frequently wounded during the war which ter-
minated in the independence of the United
States ; for not only were both attached by those
feelings and associations to the old count^j, but
they had also near connexions resident there,
with whom they kept up a friendly intercourse.

It was not, therefore, difiScult for Colonel
Brandon to persuade his friend to join him in
his proposed emigration ; the latter who was a
widower, and who, like the Colonel, had only
two children, was fortunate in having under his
roof a sister, who being now past the prime of
life, devoted herself entirely to the charge of her
brother's household. Aunt Mary (for she was
known by no other name) expressed neither
aversion nor alarm at the prospect of settling
permanently m so remote a region ; and the two
fanailies moved accordingly, with goods and
chattels, to the banks of the Ohio.

The colonel and his friend were both possess-
ed of considerable property, a portion of which
they invested in the fur companies, which at that
time carried on extensive trafiic in the north-
west territory; they also acquired from the
United States government large tracts of land
at no great distance from Marietta, upon which
each selected an agreeable site for his farm or
country-residence.

Their houses were not far apart, and though
rudely built at first, they gradually assumed a
more comfortable appearance ; wings were ad-
ded, stables enlarged, the gardens and peach-
orchards were well fenced, and the adjoining
farm-offices amply stocked with horses and cat-
tle.

For two years all went on prosperously ; the
boys, Edward Bthelston and Reginald Brandon,
were as fond of each other as their fathers
could desire : the former being three years the
senior, and possessed of excellent qualities o!
head and heart, controlled the ardent and some-
what romantic temper of Reginald ; both, were
at school near Philadelphia ; when on a beauti-
ful day in June, Mr. Ethelston and Aunt Mary
walked over to pay a visit to Mrs. Brandon,
leaving little Evelyn (who was then about eight
years old) with her nurse at home; they re-
mained al ColoneC Brandon's to dine, and were
on the point of returning in the afternoon, when
a farm-servant of Mr. Ethelston's rushed into
the room where the two gentlemen were sitticg
alone ; he was pale, breathless, and so agitated
that he could not utter a syllable : ** For hea-
ven's sake, speak ! What has happened V ex-
claimed Colonel Brandon.

A dreadful pause ensued ; at length, he ra

>•

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

ther gasped than said, **'The Indians!*' and
buried his face in his bands, as if to shut out
some horrid spectacle.

Poor Ethelston's tongue clove to his mouth ;
tike prescient agony of a father overcame him.

" What of the Indians, man 1" said Colonel
Brandon ; angrily, ** 'sblood, we have seen In-
dians enough hereabout before now ; — what the
devil have they been at V*

A groan and a shudder was the only reply.

The colonel now lost all patience, and ex-
claimed, " By heavens, the sight of a red- skin
seems to have frightened the fellow oiit of his
senses ! I did not know, Ethelston, that you
trusted your farm- stock to such a chicken- heart
as this!"

Incensed by this taunt the rough lad replied,
** Colonel ! for all as you be so bold, and have
seen, as they say, a bloody field or two, you'd a'
been skeared if youM a' seen this job ; but as
for my being afeared of Ingians in an up and
down fight, or in a tree-skrimmage — I don't care
who says it — ^t'aint a fact."

" I believe it, my good fellow," said the Colo-
nel ; ** but keep us no longer in suspense — say,
what has happened?' ,

"Why you see. Colonel, about an hour ago,
Jem and Eiiab was at work in the 'baccy-field
behind the house, and nurse was out in the big
meadow a walkin with Miss Evelyn when I
heard a cry as if all the devils had broke loose ;
in a moment, six or eight painted Ingians with
rifles and tomahawks dashed out of the laurel
thicket, and murdered poor Jem and Eliab be-
fore they could get at their rifles which stood
by the loorm fence ;* two of them then went af
ter the nurse and child in the meadow, while
the rest broke into the house, which they ran-
sacked and set 'o fire !'*

" But my chUd t" dried the agonized father.

"I fear it's gone too," said the messenger of
this dreadful news. ** I saw one devil kiil and
scalp the nurse, and t'other," — ^here he paused,
awe-struck by the speechless agony of poor
Ethelston, who stood with clasped hands and
bloodless lips, unable to ask for the few more
words which were to complete his despair.

" Speak on, man, let us know the worst ;"
said the Colonel, at the same time supporting
the trembling form of his unhappy friend.

"I seed the tomahawk raised over the sweet
child, and I tried to rush out o' my hidin' place
to save it, when the flames and the 4moke
broke out, and I tumbled into the big ditch be-
V>w the garden, over head in water; by the
Hme I got ont and reached the place, the red
QevUs were all gone, and the bouse, and straw,
snd bams all in a blaze !"

Poor Ethelston had only heard the first few
«vords — they were enough — ^his head sunk upon
kfts breast, his whole frame shuddered convul-
'vely ; and a rapid succession of inarticulate
»ands came from his lips, among which no-
hing could be distinguished beyond "child,"

tomahawk," ''Evelynr."

It is needless to relate in detail all that fol-

owed this painful scene ; the bodies of the un-

* idftanate labourers and of the nurse were found ;

* it may be necessary to Inform sone of our English
readers, that a Vorm fence Is a coarse, l4p!W rafllng, com-
aoninthenewMlitoiiMBtsarAiiMrJQf ^Itiere itebor is
ilnUfia.

all had been scalped ; that of the child was not
found; and though Colonel Brandon himself
led a band of the most experienced hunters in
pursuit, the trail of the savages could not be
followed ; with their usual wily foresight they
had struck oflT through the forest in difiTerent
directions, and succeeded in bafiUng all attempts
at discovering either their route or their tribe ,
messengers were sent to the trading posts at
Kaskaskia, Vincennes, and even to Genevieve,
and St. Louis, and all returned dispirited by a
laborious e^nd fruitless search. ^

Mr. Ethelston never recovered this calami
tons blow ; several fits of paralysis, followinff
each other in rapid succession, carried him oh
within a few months. By his will he appointed
a liberal annuity to Aunt Mary, and left the re-
mainder of his property to his son Edward, but
entirely under the control and guardianship of
Colonel Brandon. *

The latter had prevailed upon Aunt Mary and
her young nephew to become inmates of his
house ; where, after the soothing eflTect of time
had softened the bitterness ot their grief, they
found the comforts, the occupations, the en-
dearments, the social blessings embodied in the
4 word *' home." Edward hecame more fondly
attached than ever to his younger companion,
Reginald ; and Aunt Mary, besides aiding Mrs.
Brandon in the education of her daughter, found
time to knit, to hem, to cook, to draw, to plant
vegetables, to rear flowers, to read, to give
medicine to any sick in the •neighbourhood, and
to comfort all who, like herself, had suffered
under the chastising hand of Providence.

Such were the circumstances which (eleven
years before the commencement of this narra-
tive) had led to the affectionate and paternal
interest which the Colonel felt for the son of
his friend, and which was increased by the high
and estimable qualjties gradually developed in
Ed ward's character. Before proceeding further
in our tale, it is necessary to give the reader
some insight into the early history of Colonel
Brandon himself, and into those occurences in
jthe life of his son Reginald, which throw light
upon the events hereafter to be related.

CHAPTER II.

Ckmtalning an account of the marrtaffe of CcAaotX Biaii
don and its conaeqaences.

Gbobob Brandon was the only son of a-
younger brother, a scion of an ancient and di8>
tinguished family : they had been, for the most
part, staunch Jacobites, and George*s father
lost the greater part of his property in a fruitless
i^ndeavolir to support the ill-timed and ill-con-
ducted expedition of Charles Edward, in 1745.

Afler this he retired to the Continent and
died, leaving to his son little else besides his
sword, a few hundred crowns, and an u^ntai
nished name. The young man returned to
England ; and, being agreeable, accomplished
and strikingly handsome, was kindly received
by some of his relations and their friends.

During one of the visits that he paid at the
house of a neighbour in the country, he fell
desperately in love, with Lucy Shirley, the
daughter of the richest squire in the country, a
determined Whig, and one wlv hated a Jaco

THJB PRAIRIE-BIRD.

bite worse than a f^^nchman. *As George
Brandon's passion was returned with equal ar-
dour, and the object of it was young and inex-
perienced as himself, all the obstacles opposed
to their union only served to add fuel to the
flame * and, after repeated but vain endeavours
on the part of Lucy Shirley to reconcile her
father, or her only brother, to the match, she
eloped with her young lover ; and, by a rapid
escape into Scotland, where they were imme-
diately married, they rendered abortive all at-
tempt at pursuit.

It was not long before the young couple be-
gan to feel some of the painful consequences of
their imprudence. The old squire was not to
be appeased ; he would neither see bis daugh-
ter, nor would he open one of the many letters
which she wrote to entreat his forgiveness :
but, although incensed, he was a proud man
and scrupulously jusf in all his dealings : Lucy
had been left £10,000 by her grand-mother, but
it was not due to her .until she attained her
twenty-first year, or married with her father^s
consent. The squire waved both these condi-
tions; he knew that his daughter had fallen
from a brilliant sphere to one comparatively
numble. Even in the midst of his wrath he
did not wish her to starve, and accordingly in-
structed his lawyer to write to Mrs. Brandon,
and to inform her that he had orders to pay her
£500 a-year, until she thought fit to demand the
payment of the principal.

George and his wife returned, after a brief
absence, to England, and made frequent efiTorts
.to overcome by entreaty and submission the
old squire's obduracy; but it was all in vain ;
neither were they more successful in propitia-
ting the young squire, an eccentric youth, who
lived among dogs and horses, and who had im-
bibed from his father ^hereditary taste for old
port, and an antipathy to Jacobite^. His reply
to a letter which George wrote, entreating his
good offices in effecting a reconciliation between
Lucy and her father, will serve better than an
elaborate description to illustrate his character ;
it ran as follows : —

Sir,
When my sister married a Jacobite, against
fiither's consent, she carried her eggs to a fool's
market, and she must make the best of her own
bargain. Father isn't such a flat as to be gul-
led with your fine words now; and tho' they
say I'm not over forw'rd in my sohoolin\ you
must put some better bait on your trap bi^fore
von catch

Maruaduks Shirlry, Jun.

It may well be imagined, that afler the re-
ceipt of this epistle George Brandon did not
seek to renew bis intercourse with Lucy's bro-
ther ; but as she had now presented him with
a little boy, he began to meditate seriously on
the means which he should adopt to better his
fortunes.

One of his most intimate and esteemed
inends, Digby Ethelston, being like himself,
a portionless member of an ancient family, had
gone onX early in life to America, and had, by
dint of persevering industry, gained a respect-
able competence ; while in* the southern colo-
nies lie had' married the' daughter of an old
French planter, who had left the marquisate to

which he was entitled in his own country, n.
order to live in peace and quiet among the
sugar canes and cotton fields of "Louisiana ;
Ethelston had received with his wife a consid-
erable accession of fortanC) and they were on
the eve of returning across the Atlantic, her
husband having settled all the afiairs which had
brought him to England. ,

His representations of the New World made
a strong impression on the sanguine mind of
George Brandon, and he proposed to his wife
to emigrate with their little one to America;
poor Lucy, cut eff from her own family and de-
voted to her husband, made no difilculty what-
ever, and it was soon settled that they should
accompany the Ethelstons.

George now called upon Mr. Shirley's solici-
tor, a dry, matter-of-faet, parchment man, to in-
form him of their intention, and of their wish
that the principal of Lucy's fortune might be
paid up. The lawyer took down a dusty box
of black tin, whereon was engraved " Marma-
duke Shirley, Esq., Shirley Hall, No. 7," and
after carefully perusing a paper of instructions,
he said, " Mrs. Brandon's legacy shall be paid
up, sir, on the 1st of July to any party whom
she may empower to receive it on her behalf,
and to give a legsd discharge for the same."

** And pray, sir," said George, hesitating, " as
we are going across the Atlantic, pe/haps never
to return, do you not think Mr. Shirley would
see his daughter once before she sails, to give
her his blessing 1

Again the man of parchment turned his sharp
nose towards the paper, and having scanned its
contents, he said, "I find nothing, sir, in these
instructions on that point ; Good.morning, Mr.
Brandon — James, shew in Sir John Waltham."

George walked home dispirited, and the punc-
tual solicitor failed not to inform the squire im-
mediately of the young couple's intended emi-
gration and the demand for the paying up of the
sum due to Lucy. In spite of his long cherish-
ed prejudices against George Brandon's Jaco-
bite family, and his anger at the elopement, he
was somewhat softened by time, by what he
heard of the blameless life led by the young
man, and by the respectful conduct that the lat-
ter had evinced towards his wife's family ; for
it had happened on one occasion that ^ome of
his young companions had thought fit to speak
of the obstinacy and stinginess of the old squire ;
this language George liad instantly and indig-
, nantly checked, saying, " My conduct in marry-
ing his daughter against his consent, was un-
justifiable ; though he has not forgiven her, he
has behaved justly antt honourably ; any word
spoken disrespectfully of my wife's father, I
shall consider a personal insult to myself"

This had accidentally reached the ears of the
old squire, and, though still >oo proud and too
obstinate to agree to any recorciliation, he said
to the solicitor: " Perkins,* I will not be recon-
ciled to these scapegraces, I will have no inter-
course with them, but Lwill see Lury before sh«
goes ; she must not see me ; — ^arr^nge it as
you please ; desire her to come to your house
to sign the discharge for the £10,000, in per-
son ; you can put me m a cupboard, in tfatf next
room, where you will, a glass door will do ;^
you understand 1"

"Yes, sir. WhenT

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

*<0b. the sooner the better; whenever the
papers are ready. **

**It shaU bp done, sir/' And thus the inter-
view closed.- '

Meantiftie George made one final effort in a
letter which he addressed to the Squire, couch-
ed in terms at once manly aiA respectful;
owning the errors ttiat he had committed, but
hopisgtbat foi^yeness might precede this long,
th^ last separation. '

This letter was returned to him unopened,
and in order to conceal from Loey the grief and
mortification of his high and wmmded spirit, he
was obliged to absent himself from home for
many hours, and when he did return, it was
with a clouded brow.

Certainly the fate of this young couple, thpugh
not altogether prosperous, was in one particular
a remarkable exception to the usual results of
a runaway match ; they were affectionately
and entirely deyoted to each other ; and Lucy,
thoQgh she had been once, and only once, a dis-
obedient daughter, was the most loving and
obedient of wives.

The day fixed for her signature arrived. Mr.
Perkins had made all his arrangements agree-
ably to his wealthy client*s instructions; and
when, accompanied by her husband, sherenter-
ed the solicitor's study, she was little^conscious
that her father was separated from her only by
a frail door, which being left ajar, he could see
her, and hear every word that she spoke.

Mr. Perkins, placing the draft of the dis-
charge into George Brandon*s hand, together
with the instrument whereby his wife was put
in possession of the £10,000, said to him,
" Would it not be better, sir, to send for your
solicitor to inspect these papers on behalf of
yourself and Mrs. Brandon, before she signs the
discharge 1"

*' Allow me to inquire, sir," replied George,
"whether Mr. Shirley has perused these pa-
pers, and has placed them here for his daugh-
ter's signature V

" Assuredly, he has, sir," said the lawyer,
"and I have too, on his behalf; you do not im-
agine, sir, that my client would pay the capital
som without being certfin that the discharge
was regular and sufficient !"

" Then I am satisfied, sir," said. George, with
something of disdain expressed on bis fine
^countenance. " Mr. Shirley is a man of hon-
our, and a father; whatever he has sent for his
daughter's signature will secure her interests as
effectually as if a dozen solicitors had inspect-
ed it."

At the conclusion of this speech, a sort of
indistinct hem proceeded from the ensconced
Squire, to cover which Mr. Perkins said, " But,
sir, it is not usual to sign papers of this con-
quence without examining them.^

"Lucy, my dear," said George, turning with
a smile Of affectionate .confidence to his wife ;
"to oblige Mr. Perkins, I will read through
these two papers attentively ; sit down for a
minute, as they are somewhat long ;" so say-
ing, he applied himself at once to his task.

Meantime, Lucy, painfully agitated and ex-
cited, made several attempts to address Mr.
Perkins ; but her voice failed her, as soon as
she turned her eyes upon that gentleman's rigid
eountenance ; at length however, by a desper-

ate effort, she sacceeded in asking, tremnloos-
ly, "Mr. Perkins, have you seen my father
lately ?"

** Yes^' m^'am," said the lawyer, nibbing his
pen.

" Oh ! tell me how he is I—Has the gout left
himi — Can he ride to the farm as he used V*

" He is well, mftdam, very well, I believe."

" Shall yoi^ see him soon again, sir 1"

** Yes, madam, I must show him these papers
when signed."

" Oh ! then, tell him, that his daughter, who
never disobeyed him but once, has wept bitter-
ly for her fault ; that she will probably never
see him again, in this world ; that she blesses
him in her daily prayers. Oh! tell him, I
charge you as you are a man, tell him, that I
could cross the ocean happy ; that I could bear
years of sickness, of privation, happy; that I
could die happy, if I had but my dear, dear
father's blessing." As she said this, the young
wife had unconsciously fallen upon one knee
before the man of law, and her tearful eyes
were bent upon his countenance in earnest sap-
plication.

Again an indistinct noise, as of a suppressed
groan or sob, was heard from behind the door,
and the solicitor wiping his spectacles and turn-
ing away his face to conceal an emotion of
which he felt rather ashamed, said : '* I will
tell him all you desire, nmdam ; and if I re-
ceive his instructions to make any communica-
tion in reply, I will make it faithfully, ard with-
out loss of time."

" Thank you, thank you a thousand times,'
said Lucy ; and resuming her seat, she endea-
voured to recover her composure.

George had by this time run his eye over the
papers, and although he had overheard his wife*s
appeal to the solicitor, he would not intermpt
her, nor throw any obstacle in the way of an .
object which he knew she had so much at heart.
" I am perfectly satisfied, sir," said he ; " you
have nothing to do but to provide the witness-
es, and Mrs. Brandon will aflix her signature."

Two clerks of Mr. Perkins' were according-
ly summoned, and the discharge having been
signed in their presence, they retired. Mr. Per-
kins now drew another paper from the leaves
of a book on his table, saying : '* Mr. Brandon,
the discharge being now signed and attested, I
have Airther instructions from Mr. Shirley to
inform you that althoagh he cannot alter bis
determination of raAising to see his daughter,
or holding any intercourse with yourself, he is
desirous that you should not in America find
yourself in straitened circumstances ; and has
accordingly authorised me to place in youi
hands this draft upon his banker for £5000."

** Mr. Perkins," said George, in a tone of min-
gled sadness and pride ; " in the payment of the
£10,000, my wife's fortune, Mr. Shirley, though
acting honourably, has only done justice, and
has dealt as he would have dealt with strangers;
had he thought proper to listen to my wife's, er
to my own repeated entreaties for forgiveness
and reconciliation, I would gratefully have re-
ceived from him, as from a fhther^ any favour
that he wished to confer on us ; but, 8&, as he
refuses to see me under his roof, or even to give
his affectionate and repentant child a parting
blessing, I would rather work for my dailv

8

THE PRAIRIB-BIRD.

bpead than receive at hie hands the donation ef
a guinea."

As he said this, he tore the draft and scatter-
ed its shreds on the tabl^ before the astonished
lawyer. Poor Lucy was still in tears, yet one
look assured her hnsband that she/e/< with him.
He added in a eentler tone, " Mr. Perkins ac-
cept my ackno^edgments f6r your courtesy ;'*
and offering his arm to Lucy, turned to leave
the room.

CHAPTER IH.

C6nt9iniiic tome ftirtfaer account of Colonel and Ux^
Brandon, and of the Edacadon of ^etr ion Reginald.

Wrii»b thos scene described^in the last chap-
ter was passing in the laser's study, «tonny
and severe was the strugj^e going on in the
breast of the listenmg feUier ; more than once
he had been on the point of rushing into the
room to fold his child in his arms ; but that oh-
sttnate pride, which causes in life so many bit-
ter hours of regret, prevented him, and cheekr
ed the natural impulse of affection : still, as she
turned with her husband to leave the room, he
unconsciously opened the door, on the lock of
which his* hand rested, as be endeavoured to
get one last look at a facewhieh he bad so
kihg loved and caressed. The door being thus
partially opened, a very diminutive and favour-
ite spaniel, that accompanied him wherever he
went, esca])ed through the aperture, and, recog-
nizing Lucy, barked and juniped upon her in an
acstacy of delight.

"Heavens!" cried she, "it is— it must be
Fan *'' At another time she would have fond-
ly caressed it, but one only thought now occu-
pied her ; trembling on her husband's arm, she
whispered, " George, papa rmui be here." At
that moment her eye caught the partially-open-
ed door, which the agitated Squire still held,
and, breaking from her husband, she flew as if
by instinct into the adjacent room, and fell at
her father's feet.

Poor Mr. Perkins was now grievously dis-
concerted, and calling out, "This way, madam,
this way ; that is not the right door," was about
to follow, when €reorge Brandon, laying his
hand upon the lawyer's arm, said impressively,

" Stay, sir ; that room is sacred !** and led
him back to his chair. His quick mind had
seized in a moment the correctness of Lucy's
conjecture, and his good feeling taught him
' that no third person, not even he, should in-
trude upon the father and the child.

The old square could not make a long resist-
ance when the gush of his once-loved Lucy's
tears trickled upon his hand, and while her
half-choked voice sobbed for his pardon and his
blessing; it was in vain that he summoned
all his pride, all his strength, all bis anger;
Nature would assert her rights ; and in another
minute his child's head was on his bosom, and
he whispered over her, " I forgive you Lucy ;
may God bless you, as I do !"

For ^me time after this was the interview
prolonged, and Lncy seemed to be pleading for
some boon which she «ould not obtain ; never-
theless her tears, her old familiar childish ca-
resses, had rcgauied. something of their former

dominion over the choleric, but warm-hearted
Squire ; and in a voice of joy that thrilled even
through the quiet man of law, she cried«
" George ! George, come in !" he leaped ijrom
his seat, and in a moment was at the feet of her
father. There as he knelt by Lucy's side, the
old Squire put one hand upon the head of each, >
saying, " My children, aU that you have ever
done to offend me is forgotten ; oontinue to love
and to cherish each other, and may God pros
per you with every blessing!" George Bran-
don's heart was full; he could not speak, but
straiiiing his wife afi^ctionately to his bosom,
and kissing her father's hand, he withdrew into
a corner of the room, and for some minutes re«
mained oppressed by emotions too strong to find
relief in expressions.

We need not detail at length the consequen-
ces of this happy and unexpected reconciliation.
The check was re-written, was doubled, and
was accepted. George still persevered in his
wish to accompany his friend to Virginia ; where
Ethelston assured him that, with his ;£20,000
prudently managed, he might easily acquire a
sufficient fortune for himself and his family.

How mighty is the power of circumstance : and
upon what small pivots does Providence some
times allow the wheels of human fortune to bo
turned ! Here, in the instance just related, the
blessing or nnappeasea wrath of a father, the
joy or despair of a daughter, the peace or dia-
cord of a family, aU, all were dependent upon
the bark and caress of a spaniel ! For that stern
old man had made his determination, and would
have adhered to it, if Lucy had not thus been
made aware of his presence, and by her grief
aiding the voice of Nature, overthrown all the
defences of his pride.

It happened that the young Squire was at
this time in Paris, his father having sent him
thither to see the world and learn to fence ; a
letter was, however, written by Lucy, announ-
cing to him the happy reconciliation, and en-
treating him to participate in their comimon hap-
piness.

The arrangements for the voyage were soon
completed ; the cabin of a large vessel being
engaged to convey the whole party to Norfolk
in Virginia. The Old Squire offered no oppo-
sition, cqpsideringthat George Brandon was too
old to begin a profession in England, and that
he might employ his time and abilities advanta'
geously in the New World.

We may pass oveir many of the ensuing years,
the events of which have little influence on' our
nar^tive, merely informing the reader that the
investnient of Brandon's money, made by the
advice of Ethelston, was prosperous in the ex-
' tr^me. In the course of a year or two, Mrs.
Brandon presented her lord with a little girl,
w^o was named after herself. In the following
year, Mrs. Ethelston had also a daughter : the
third confinement was not so fortuhate, and
she died in childbed, leaving to Ethelston, Ed-
ward, then about nine, and little Evetyn* a
twelvemonth old.

It was on this sad occasion that he persuaded
his sister to come out from England to reside
with him, and take care of his motherless chil-
dren : a task that ^he undertook and fulfilled
with the love and devotion of the most afito-
tionate mother.

THE FRAIfilB-BIRD.

i

In course of time tbe war t^rote out which
ended in the independence of the Colonies.
During its commencement, Brandon and Etbel-
ston both remained firm to the Crown ; but as
k advanced, they oecame gradually conyinced
of the impolicy and injustice of the claims urged
by England ; Brandon having sought an inter-
view with Washington, the arguments, and the
character, of that great man decided him ; he
^oined the Independent party, obtained a com-
mand, and distinguished himself so much as to
obtain the esteem and regard of his commander.
As soon as peace was established he had, for
reasons before stated, determined to change his
residence, and persuaded Etfaelston to accom-
pany him with his family.

After the dreadful domestic calamity men-
tioned in the first chapter, and the untimely
death of Ethelston, Colonel Brandon seht Ed-
ward, the son of his deceased friend, to a dis-
tant relative in Hamburgh, desiring that every
care might *be given to give him a complete
foeicant&e and liberal education, including two
years' study at a German university.

Mesoiwhile the old Squire Brandon was dead,
but his £on and successor had written, after his
own strange fashion, a letter to his sister, beg-
ging her to send over her boy to England, and be
would " make a man of him." After duly weigh-
ing this proposal, Colonel and Mrs. Brandon de-
termined to avsul themselves of it ; and Reginald
was accordingly sent over to his uncle, who had
promised to enter him immediately at Oxford.

When Reginald arriyed, Marmaduke Shirley
tamed him round half a dozen times, felt his
urns, punched his ribs, looked at his ruddy
cheeks and brawn hair, that ha(f never known
a barber, and exclaimed to a brother sportsman
who was standing by, " D — d if he ainH one of
the right sort! eh, Harry 1" But if the uncle
was pleased with the lad's appearance, much
more delighted was he with his accomplish-
ments : for he could toalk down any keeper on
the estate, he sat on a horse like a young cen-
taur, and his accuracy with a rifle perfectly
confounded the Squire. " If this isn't a chip
of the old block, my name isn*t Marmaduke
Shirley," said he ; and fbr a moment a shade
crossed his usually careless brow, as he remem-y
bered that he had wooed, and married^ and
been left a childless widower.

But although at Shirley Hall Reginald fol-
. lowed the sports of the field with the ardour
natural to his age and character, he rather an-
noyed the Squire by his obstinate and pers^
▼ering attention to his studies at College ; he
remembered that walking and shooting were
accomplishments which he might have acquired
and perfected in the woods of Virginia ; but he
feU it due to his parents, and to the confidence
whidi they had reposed in his discretion, to
carry back with him some more useful knowl-
edge and learning. •

With this dutiful motive, he commenced his
ftadies ; and as he advanced in them, his natu-
rally quick intellect seized on and appreciated
the beauties presented to it *, authors, in whose
writings he had imagined and expected little
else but difficulties, soon became easy and fa-
miliar; and what he had imposed upon himself
firom a high principle as a task, proved, ere long
a source of abundant pleasure.

In tbe vacations he visited his good-humour
ed uncle, who never failed to rally himcas ^
" Latin-monger" and a book-worm ; butllegi-
nald bore the jokes with temper not less merry
than his uncle's ; and whenever,, after a hard
run, he had ** pounded" the Squire or the hunts-
man, he never failed to retaliate by answering
the compliments paid him on his riding with
some such j6st as " Pretty well for a hook-worm, i
uncle." It soon became evident to all the ten-
ants,' servants, and indeed to the whole neigh-
bourhood, that Reginald exercised a despotic
influence over the Squire, who respected inter-
nally those literary attainments in his nephew
which he aflfected to ridicule. i

When Reginald had taken his degree, which
he did with high honour and credit, he felt an
ardent desire to visit his friend and school-fel-
low, Edward Ethelston, in Germany ; he was
also anxious to see something of the Continent,
and to study the foreign languages ; this wish
he expressed without circumlocution to the
Squire, who received the communication with
undisguised disapprobation : '^ What the devil
can the boy want to go abroad fori hot satisfied
with wasting two or three years poking over
Greek, Latin, Mathematics, and other infernal
* atics' and * ologies,' now you must go across
the Channel, to eat sour-crout, soup-maigre,
and frogs! I won't hear of it, sir;" and in
order to keep his wrath warm, the Squire poked
the fire violently.

In spite of this determijiation Reginald, as
usual carried his poipt, and in a few weeks was
on board a packet bound for Hamburgh, his
purse being well filled by the Squire, who told
him to see all that could be seen, and *' not to
let any of those Mounseers top him at any-
thing." Reginald was also provided with let-
ters of credit to a much larger amount than he
required ; but the first hint which he gave of a
wish to decline a portion of the Squire's gene-
rosity raised such a storm, that our hero was
fain to submit.

CHAPTER IV.

Containing sundry adventupi! of JGlglnald Brandon and
hfc friend Ethelston on vte Cbntinent ; also eome Airther
proceedii^ at Squire Shirley's ; and the retain of Reg-
inald Brandon to his home. In this chapter the qiort-
Ing reader will find an ezaaplo of an uunade ilder on
a made hunter.

Reginald having joined his attached and
faithful friend Ethelston at Hamburgh, the
young men agreed to travel together ; and the
intimacy of their early boyhood ripened into a
mature friendship, based upon a mutual esteem ;
in personal advantages, Reginald was greatly
the superior; for although unusually tall and
strongly built, such was the perfect symmetry
of his proportions, that his height, and the great
muscular strength o( his chest and limbs, were
carried off by the grace with which he moved,
and by the air of high -breeding by which he was
distinguished ; his countenance was noble and
open in expression; and though there was a
fire in his dark eye which betokened passions
easily aroused, still there was a frankness on
the brow, and a smile around the mouth that
told of a nature at once kindly, fearless, and
without suspicion.

10

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

BtfielEton, who was, be it remembered, three,
y^aa older thao his friend, was of middle Gtat-
nre.^ut active and well proportioned ; hia hair
and eyebrows were ofihe jetiest black, and his
countenance thoughtfal and grave; but there
wa» about the full and firnn lip bd elpresaion o(
determination not to be mistaken; habita of
study and reflection bad already written tb
trace upon his high and intellectual brow ;
that one who saw him for the first time might
Imagiae him only a severe student; but ere he
had seeh him an hour in Eocieiy, be would pro-
nounce him a man of practical and command-
ing character. The shade of melancholy, which
wag almost habitual on his countenance, dated
Trom the death of his fathei^ brought prema-
turely by sorrow to his grare, and from the loss
of hia little sister, to whom he had been tender-
,y attached. The two friends loved each other
with the affection of brothers ; and, alter the
separation of the last few years, each found in
the other newly developed qualities to esieetn.

The state of Europe during the antomn of
1796 not being favourable for distant ezcur-
•ions, EtheistoD contented bimselT with show-
ing his friend all objects worthy of his attention
in the north of Germany, and at the same time
assisted him in attaining its rich, though diffi-
cult langoage ; by associating much during the
winter, with the students from the Universities,
Reginald caught some of their enthusiasm re-
specting the defence of their country from the
urns of the French republic ; be learned that a
large number of Etbelston's acquaintatices at
Hamburgh had resolved in the spring to join a
corps of volunteera from the Hanseatic towns,
destined to fight under the banner of the Arch-
dute Charles; to their own surprise, our two
friends were carried away by the stream, and
found themselves enrolled in a small, but active
BDd gallant band of sharp-shooters, ordered to
act on the flank of a large body of Austrian in-
fantry. More thati once the impetuous courage
of Reginald had nearly cost him hia life; and
in the action at Amberg, where the Archduke
defeated General Bemadotte, he received two
wounds, such as would have disabled a man of
teas hardy constitution. It was in vain that
Elhelslon, wlinsp bravpry was tempered by un-
ruffied coolnEss, UTged hi^ friend to expose bim-
telf lees wantonly ; B^in^ always prmnised
1, but in the excitsment of the action a|ways
^rgqf ^e prataiGa

>fler he had recovered from hia wounds, bis
-TOH^Kmiing officer, who liad noticed hie fear-
^sa dating, a quality su valuable in the sktr-
viahinj^ duty, to which his corps were appoint-
ed, segt for him, and offered to promote him.
"Bir," Mid Reginald, motlestiy, " I thank you
heartily, but 1 must declinR the honour you pro-
pose to me, I am loo inexperienced to lead
outers; roy friend and comrade, Ethelston, is
three years my senior; in action he is always
by my side, sometimes before me; be has more
•kitl or riper judgment ; any promotion that
should prefer me before him, would be most
painful to me." He bowed and withdrew. On
the following day, the same officer, who had
mentioned Reginald's conduct to the Archduke,
presented each of the friends, from him, with a
(Old medal of tbe Emperor ; a distinction the
more gratifying to Reginabj, from bis knowledge

They served through the remainder of that
campaign, when the arms of the contending
parlies met With alternate success ; towards its
close, the Archduke having akilfully elTected
his object of uniting his forces to the corps
d'arm^under General Wanenleben, compelled
the French to evacuate Franconia, and to re-
lire towards Switzerland.

This retreat was conducted with much sitiD
by General Moreau ; severa! limes did the
IVench rear-guard make an obltinate stand
against the pursuers, among whom Reginald
and hia comrades were always the foremoat.
On one occasion, the French army occupied
a position so strong that they were not driven
from it without heavy loss on both sides ; and
even after the force of numbers had compelled
the main body to retire, there remained a gal-
lant band who seemed resolved to conquer or
die upon tbe field ; in vain did the Austrian
leaders, in admiration of their devoted valour,
call to them to surrender ; without yielding an ,
inch of ground, they fell, fighting where they
stood. Reginald made the moat desperate ef.
forts to save their young commander, whose
chivalrous' appearance and brilliantly decoratod
iform made him remarkable from a great

stance; several times did he strike aside a

bHTTd pointed at the French officer ; but it was ^
too late ; and when at length, covered wHh
dust, and sweat, and bkJod, he reached tho
spot, he found Ihe young hero whom he had
striven to save, stretched on the ground by
several mortal wounds ih his breast ; he saw,
Jiowever, Reginald's kind intention, smiled
gratefully npnn him, waved bis sword over his
head, and died.

The excitement of the battle was over, and
leaning qn his sword, Reginald still benl over
the noble form and marble features of the
young warrior at his feel, and he sighed deeply
when he thought how suddenly bad Ibis flower
of manly beauty been cut down. " Peijiaps,"
said he, half aloud, ■' some now childless moth-
yet waits for this last prop of her age and
ime ; or some betrothed lingers at her wiii-
iw and wonders why he so long delays."
EthelBion was' at his side, his eyes also henf.
sadly upon the same object ; the young friends
interchanged a warm and silent grasp of th«
hand, each feeling that he read the heart of
tbe other ! Al this moment, a groan escaped
from a wounded m-m, who was half buried un-
der the bleeding bodies of hia comrades; with
some difficulty Reginald dragged him out from
below them, and the poor fellow thanked him
for his htmanity ; he had only received a slight
wound on the head from a spent ball, whicbi
had stunned him for the time ; but he soon re-
covered frorg its eSects, and looking around, ha
saw the body of (he young commander stretched
on the plain.

" Ah. man pnamt General V he esclalmed :
and on farther inquiry. Regiaald learned that it
was indeed Ihe gallant, the admired, the belov-
ed General Marceau, "hose brilliant career wa»
untimely closed.

will go," whispered Ethelslon, " and bear
this tidings to the Archduke ; meantune, Rrgi-

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

11

Bald, guard the hononred remains from the
camp-8poiler and the plunderer.'' So saying he
withdrew ; and Reginald, stooping over the
prostrate form before him, stretched it decently,
closed the eyes, and throwing a mantle over
the splendid uniform, sat down toii^dulge in the
serious meditations inspired by tlte scene.

He was soon aroused from them by the poor
fdlow whom he had dragged forth, who said to
him, " Sir, I yield myself your prisoner."

" And who are you, my friend V*

** I was courier, valet, ^nd cook to M. de Ya-
feoil, aide-de-camp to the General Marceau ;
both lie dead together before you."

** And what is your name, my good fellow 1"

" Gustavo Adolphe Montmorenci Perrot."

"A fair string of names, indeed," said Regi-
nald, smiling. ** But pray, Monsieur Perrot,
how came you here < are you a soldier as well
08 a courier]"

** Monsieur does me too much honour," said
the other, shrugging his shoulders. ''I only
came fronr the baggage-train with a message to
my master, and your avant-garde peppered us
so hotly that I could not get back again. I am
not fond of fighting; but somehow, when I saw
poor Monsieur de Vareuil in so sad a plight, I
did not wish to leave him."

Reginald looked at the speaker, and thought
he had never seen in one face such a compound
of slyness and honesty, drollery apd sadness.
HAdid not, however, reply, and relapsed into
Unneditation. Before five minutes had passed.
Monsieur Perrot, as if struck by a sudden idea,
Tell on his knees before Reginald, and said,

** Monsieur has saved my life— will he grant
«eyet one favour 1"

" If within my^power," said Reginald, good-
lomouredly.

'* Will Monsieur take me into his service 1 I
lave travelled over all Europe; I have lived
loog in Paris, London, Vienna ^ I may be of use
« Monsieur ; but I have no home now."
" Nay, but Monsieur Perrot, I want no serv-
int ; I am only a volunteer with the army.*'

"I see what Monsieur is," said Perrot, archly,
"^in spite of the dust and blood with which he
is disfigured. I will ask no salary ; I will share
your black bread, if you are poor, and will live
in your pantry if you are rich : I only want to
serve you."

Monsieur Perrot's importunity overruled all
the objections that Reginald could raise ; and
he fit last consented to the arrangement, pro-
vided the former, after djie redaction, should
adhere to his wish.

Ethelston meanwhile returned with the party
tent by the Archduke to pay the last toien of
respect to the remains of the youthful General.
They wereiintierred with all the military hon-
ours due to an ofiicer whose reputation was,
considering his years, second to none in France,
saT6 that of Napoleon himself

After the ceremony, Monsieur Perrot, now on
parole not to bear arms against Austria, obtain-
ed leave to return to the French^ camp for a
week, in order to " arrange his afi!airs," at the
expiration of which he promised to rejoin his
new master. Ethelston blamed Reginald for
his thoughtlessness in engaging this untried at-
tendant. The latter, however, laughed at his
friend, and said, ** Though he is such ^ jdroU-

looking creature, I think there is good in him
at all events, rest assured I will not trust him
far without trial" ''

A fewj^eeks after these erents, General Mo-
reau having effected his retreat into Switzer-
land, an armistice was concluded, on the Rhine
between the contending armies ; and Reginald
could no longer resist the imperative commands
of his Uncle to return to Shirley Hall. Mon-
sieur Gustavo Adolphe Montmorenci Perrot had
joined his new master, with a valise admirably
stocked, and wearing a peruke of a most fash-
ionable cut. Ethelston shrewdly suspected that
these had formed part of poor Monsieur de Ya-
reuirs wardrobe, and his dislike of Reginald's
foppish valet was not thereby diminished.
* On the route to Hamburgh the friends passed
through many places where the luxuries, and
even the necessaries, of life had been rendered
scarce by the late campaign. Here Perrot was
in his element ; fatigue seemed to be unknown
to him ; he was always ready, active, useful as
a courier, and unequalledas a cook and a caterer ;
so that Ethelston was compelled to confess that
if he only proved honest, Reginald had indeed
found a treasure.

At Hamburgh the two friends took an affec-
tionate farewell, promising to meet each other
in the course of the following year on the banks
of the Ohio. Reginald returned to his Uncle,
who stormed dreadfully when he learned' that
he had brought with him a French valet, and
remained implacable in spite of the circumstan-
ces under which he had been engaged ; until
one morning, when a footman threw down the
tray on which be was carrying up the Squire's
breakfast of beeksteaks and stewed kidneys,
shalf an hour before " the meet" at his best cover-
side. What could now be donel The cook
was sulky, and sent word that there were Ho
more steaks or kidneys to be had. The Squire
was wrath and hungry. Reginald laughed, and
said, " Uncle, send for Perrot." '

" Perrot be d— d !" cWed the Squire. " Does
the boy think I want some pomatum 1 What
else oould that coxcomb give me 1"

**May I try him. Uncle 1" said Reginald, stUl
langhhig.

" You may try him : but if he plays any ot
his jackanapes pranks, Pll tan his hide for him,
I promise you !"

Reginald having rung for Perrot, pointed te
the remains of the good things which a servant
was still gathering up, and said to him, ** Send
up breakfast for Mr. Shirley and myself in one
quarter of an hour from this minute : you are
permitted to use what yon find in the lardet ;
but be punctual"

Perrot bowed, and, without speaking, disap-
peared.

*«The devil take the fellow! he has some
sense," said the angry Squire ; " be can receive
an order without talking; one of my hulking
knaves would have stood there five minutes out
of the fifteen, saying, * Yes, sir ; FU see what
can be done:' Or, *ril ask Mr. Alltripe,' or
some other infeniel stuff. Come, Reginald,
look at your watch. Let us stroll to the stable ;
we'll be bacV to a minute ; and if that fellow
plays any of his French tricks upon me, Pll give
it him." So saying, the jolly Squire cut the
head off one of his gardener's favourite plantSi

m

THE PRJklttlB-BIRl).

w!tli Ills bunting wh!p> aad led tke tray to the
fertable.

We may now return to Monsienr Perrot, antf
see bow he set aboot the discbarge of his sud^
den commission ; but it may be necessary, at
the same time, to explain one or two particalars
not known to his master, or to the Squire.
Monsieur Perrot was Yery gailant, and his ten-
der heart had been smitten by the charms of
Mary, the still-room maid ; it so happened on
this rery morning that he had prepared siily, as
a surprise, a little '* dejeuner hlafourehette,^^
with which he intended to soften Imiry's obdu-
racy. We will not inquire how he had obtained
the mushroom, the lemon, and the sundry other
good things with which he i^s busily engaged
in dressing a plump hen-pheasant, when he re-
cerved the above unexpected summons. Mon-
sieur Perrot's vanity was greater than either his
gourmandise or his love ; and, without hesita-
tion, he determined to sacrifice to it the hen-
pheasant : his first step was to run to the still-
room ; and havyig stolen a kiss from Mary, and
received a box on th^ ear as a reward, he gave
her two Or three very brief but important hints
for the cofi^ee, which was to t>e made immedi-
ately ; he then turned his attention to the hen-
pheasant, sliced some bacon, cut up a ham, took
possession of a whole basket of eggs, and flew
about the kitchen with such surprising activity,
and calling for so many things at once, that Mr.
AUtripe left his doimnion, and ifetired to his
own room in high dudgeon.

Meanwhile the Squire,, having sauntered
through the stables with Reginald, and enli^t-
ened him with various comments upon the
pqlints and qualities of his favourite hunters,
rook out his watch, and exclaimed, '* the time is
up, my boy ; let us go in and see what your pre-
cious Mounseer has got for us." As they en-
tered the library. Monsieur opened the opposite
door, and announced breakfast as quietly and
composedly as if no unusual demand had been
made upon his talents. The Squire led the way
into the breakfast-room, and was scarcely more
surprised than was Reginald himself at the
viands that regaled his eye on the table. In
addition to the brown and white loaves, the rolls,
and other varieties of bread, there smoked on
one dish the delicate salmi of pheasant, on an-
other the Squire's favourite dish of bacon, with
poached eggs, and on a third, a most tenSfpting
OmeleUe au Jambon.

Marmaduke Shirley opened his eyes and
mouth wide with astonishment, as Monsieur
Perrot oflTered him, one after another, these del-
icacies, inquiring, with undisturbed gravity. If
" Monsieur desired anything else T as there were
other dishes ready below !"

" Other dishes ! why, man, here's a breakfast
for a Court of ^ddermen,'* said the Squire ; and
naving ascertained that the things were as
agreeable to the taste as to the eye, and that
the cofifee was more clear and high flavoured
than he had ev^r tastdd liefore, he seized his
tephew's hand, saying, " Reginald, my boy, T
give in ; your Master Penif s a trump, and no
man shaM ever speak a word against him in
this house I A rare fellow !" here he took an-
other turn at the omelette ; ** hang me if he
shan't have a day's spert;" and the. Squire,
chuckling at the idea that had suddenl/ erased

hfm, rang the bell violently: "Tell Repton».
said he to the servatit who entered, " to saddle
'Rattling Bess* for Monsieur Perrot, and to
take her to the cover-side with the oUier hor-
ses, at ten."

<*^She kicks s^^bit at starting," he added to
Reginald ; " but she's as safb as a mill ; and
though she rushes now and then at the fencca,
she always gets through or over 'em."

Now it was poor Perrot's turn to be aston-
ished : to do him justice, be was neither a bad
horseman <as a courier) nor a coward ; but hjo
had never been out with hounds, and the enu-
meration of "Rattling Bess's" qualities did not
sound very attractive to his ear; he begaa
gently to make excuses, and to decline the pro-
posed favour : he had not the " proper dress ;"
** he had much to do for Monsieur's wardrobe at
home ;" but it was all to no purpose, the Squire
was determined ; Repton's coat and breeches
would fit him, and go he must.

With a rueful Ipok at his master, Ferrot slunk
off, cursing in his heart the salmi and the ome-
lette, whi3i had procured him this undesired
favour ; but he was ordered to lose no time in
preparing himself, so he first endeavoured to
get into Mr. Ripton's clothes ; that proved im-
possible, as Mr. R. fiad been a racing jockey, -•*
and was a feather-weight, with legs like nut- '•
crackers ; having no time for deliberation. Mon-
sieur Perrot drew from his valise the courier r*
suit which he had worn in France ; and. tShe ^
surprise of the whole party assembled^t the
door, be appeared clad in a blue coat, turned up
with yellow, a cornered hat, and enormous
boots, h-^'f a foot higher than\his knees : he-was .
ordered to jump up behind •the Squire's cas-
riage, and away they went to the cover-side,
amid the ill-suppressed titter of the grooms and
footmen, and the loud laughter of the maids,
whose malieious faces, not excepting that of
Mary, were at the open wihdows below. -

When thej reached the pl&ce appointed for
^ the meet," and proceeded to mount the impa- A
tient horses awaiting them, Perrot eyed witK *
no agreeable anticipation the Ibng ears of Rat-
tling Bess laid back, and the restless, wag of
her rat-tail, and he ventured one more attempt
at an escape. "Really, sir," said he to the
Squire, " I never hunted, and I dcfn't think I
can manage that animal; she looks very sav-
age." . .

"Never mind her. Monsieur Perrot," said
the Squire, enjoying the poor valet's ill-dissetn
bled uneasiltess. "She knows her bupiness
here aa well as any whipper-in or huntsman ;
only let her go her own way, and you'll never
be'far from the brush."

** Very well," muttered Perrot ; " I hope she
knows her business ; I know mine, and that is
to keep on her back, which I'll do as well as I

ii

can.

The eyes of the wbol5 field were upon this
strangely attired figure, and as soon as he got
into the saddle, " Rattling Bess" began toliick
and plunge violently; we have said that ho
was not in some respects a bad horseman, and
although in this, her first prank, he lost one of
his stirrups, and his cornered hat fell off, h6
contrived to keep both bis seat and his temper ;
while the hounds were drawing the cover, one
Of the Squire's grooms restored the hat, and

THE PRAIRIE-BIRI>.

If

gaye him a string wherewith to fasten it, an
operation which he had scarcely concluded, when
the inspiring shouts ot " Tally-ho," " Gone
away," " Forward," rang on his ears. ** Rat-
tlBig Bess'* seemed to understand the sounds
u w^ as ever alderman knew a dinner-bell ;
and away she went at full gallop, convincing
Monsieur Perrot, after an ineffectual strug^
of a few minutes on his part, that both the
speed and direction of her course were matters
over which he could not exercise the smallest
iofloence.

On they flew, over meadow and stile, ditch
md hedge, nothing seemed to check Rattlina
Bess ; and while all the. field were in astonished
admiration at the reckless riding of the strange
courier, that worthy was catching his breath
and mattering through his teeth ** Diable d'ani-
mal, she have a mouth so hard, like one of Mr.
Alltripe's bjf-steak — ^she know her business —
and a *sacre business it is — holi there ! mind
youHelf t*' he shouted at the top of his voice,
to a horseman whose horse had fallen in brush-
ing through a thick hedge, and was struggling
to rise on the other side just as Rattling Bess
followed at I tremendous speed over»the same
place ; lighting ijpon the hind-quarters of her
hapless predecessor, and scraping all the skin
off hts loins, she knocked the rider head over
heels into the ploughed^ field where his face
was buried a foot deep in dirty mould ; by a
powerful effort she kept herself from tailing,
and wej^t gaUantly^ over the field ; Perrot still
muttering, as he tugged at the insensible mouth,
"She know her business, she kill dat poor devil
hi the dirt, she kill herself and me too."

A few minutes later, the hounds, having over-
ran the scent, came to a check, and were gath-
ered by the huntsman into a green lane, whence
they were about to " try back" as Rattling Bess
came up at unabated speed. ** Hold hard there,
hold hard !" shouted at once the huntsman, the
whips, and the few sportsmen who were up
with the bounds. ** Where the devil are you
' going, manr* "The fox is viewed hack."
"Hallo!-— you*re riding Into the middle of the
pack." These and similar cries scarcely had
time to reach the ears of Perrot, ere " Rattling
Bess" sprang over the hedge into the green
lane, and coming down among the unfortunate
dogs, split the head of one, broke the back of
another, and laming two or three more, carried
her rider over the opposite fence, who still pant-
» ing for breath, with his teeth set, mattered,
" She know her business, sacre animal."

After crossing two more fields, she cleared a
hedge so thick that he could not see wha| was
•n the other side ; but he beard a tremendous
crash, and was only conscious of being hurled
with violence to the ground ; slowly recovering
his senses, he saw Rattling Bess lying a few
yards from him, bleeding profusely; and his
own eara xser^ salut^ by the following com-
passionate inquiry from the lips of a gardener,
who was standing oyer him, spade in hand :
"D— n your stupid outlandish head, wl»t be
you a doin' here 1" *

The half stunned courier, pointing to Rat*

tliv Bess, replied : " She know her business."

The gardener, though enraged at the entire

demolition of bis melon-bed, and of sundry

forced vegetables ond^r glass, was not an ilL

iempered fellow il Jbe main ; and seeing that
the horse was ha«f killed, and the rider, a
foreigner, much bruised, he assisted poor Per-
rot to rise, and having gathered from him, that
he was in the service of rich Squire Shirlef ,
rendered all the aid in his power to him and
to Rattling Bess, who had received some very
severe cuts from the glass.

When the events of the day came to be talked
over at the Hall, and it proved that it was the
Squire )iimself whom Perrot had so unceremo-
niously ridden over,7-^hat the huntsman would
expect some twenty guineas for the hounds,
killed or maimed, — ^that the gardener would
probably present a similar, or a larger account
for a broken melon-bed and shivered glass,-—
and that Rattling Bess was lame for the season,
the Squire did not encourage much conversation
on the day's sport; the only remark that he
was heard to make, being ** What a fool I was .
to put a frog-eating Frenchman on an Engliflh
hunter !"

Monsieur Perrot remained in his room for
three or four days, not oaring that Mary should
see his visage while it was addimed with a black
eye and an inflamed nose.

Soon after this eventiul ehase, Reginald ob- * %
tained his Uncle's leave to obey his father's
wishes by visiting Paris for a few months ; hia
stay there was shortened by a letter which he
received from his sister Lacy, announcing to
him his mother's illness, on the receipt of which
he wrote a few hurried lines of explanation to
his Uncle, and sailed by the first ship for Phila-
delphia, accompanied by the faithiful Perrot,
and by a large rough dog of the breed of the old
Irish wolfhound, given to him by the Squure.

On arriving, he foand his mother better than
he had expected ; and, as he kissed off the teara
of joy which Lacy shed on his return, he whis-
pered to her his belief that she had a little ex-
aggerated their mother's illness, in order to
recall him. After a short time, £thelston also
returned, and joined the happy circle assembled
at Colonel Brandon's.

It was now the spring of 1797, between which
tune and that mentioned as the date of oui
opening chapter, a period of neaily two years
nothing worthy of peculiar record occurred ;
Reginald kept up a faithful oorrespondenoa
with.bis kind ancle, whose letters shewed how
deeply he felt his nephew's absence. Whether
Monsieur Perrot interchanged letters with Mary,
or consoled himself with the damsels on the
banks of the Ohio, the foUowing pages may
show. His master made several hunting ex-
cursions, on which he was always aecompanied
by Baptiste, a sturdy backwoodsman, who waa
more deeply attached to Reginald than to any
other being on earth; and Ethelston had, as
we have before explained, undertaken the wholff
charge of his guardian's vess^ with one ol
the largest of which he was, at the comnience
ment of ear tale, idieent in th» West Indit
Islands.

CHAPTER V.

An advmiiirs in the wooda.— Re^teSU BmdOB maksn
th« MquaiBtanot of am Indtwi olilsf.

It was a bright morning in April ; the robis
wa» beginning his early song, the wood-peckei
darted his beak againsl^the roagh bark, and the

u

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

•quirrel hopped merrily from bough to boagfa
among the gigantic trees of the forest, as two
hunters followed a winding path which led to a
ferry across the Muskingam river.

One was a powerful, athletic yoang man, with
a countenance strikingly handsome, and em-
browned by exercise and exposure ; his dress
was a hunting shirt, and leggings of deer-skin ;
iiis curling brown locks escaped from under a
eap of wolf-skin ; and his mocassins, firmly se-
cured round the ankle, were made from the
tough hide of a bear ; he carried in his hand a
short rifle of heavy calibre and an ornamented
touteau-de-chasse hung at his belL His com-
panion lower in stature, but broad, sinewy, and
weather-beaten, seemed to be some fifteen or
twenty years the elder ; his dress was of the
same material, but more soiled and worn ; his
rifle was longer ahd heavier ; and his whole ap-
pearance that of a man to whom all inclemen-
cies of season were indifferent, all the dangers
and hardships of a western hunter's life famil-
iar ; but the most remarkable part of his equip-
ment was an^ enormous axe, the handle studded
with nails, and th^ head firmly riveted with iron
^hoops.

*'Well Master Reginald" said the latter;
" we must hope to find old Michael and his fer-
ry-boat at the Passage des Rochers, for the riv-
er is much swollen, and we might not easUy
swim it with dry powder."

"What reason have you to doubt old Mi-
chaers being found at his post V* said Reginald ;
'* we have often crossed there, and have seldom
found him absent."

" True, master ; but he has of ^late become
f ery lazy ; and he prefers sitting by his fire,
and exchanging a bottle of fire-water with a
strolling Ingian for half a dozen good skins, to
tugging a great flat-bottomed boat across the
Muskingum during the March floods."

" Baptiste," said the ooung man, " it grieves
me to see the reckless avidity with which spir-
its are sought by the Indians ; and the violence,
outrage, and misery which are the general con-
sequence of their dram-drinking."

** Why you see, there is something very good
in a cup of West Ingy rum ;" here Baptiste's
hard features were twisted into a grin irresis-
tably comic, and he proceeded, " it warms the
stomach and the heart ; and the savages, when
they once taste it, suck at a bottle by instinct,
as natural as a six-weeks cub at his dam : I
often wonder, Master Reginald, why you spoil
that fine tau de tie which little Perrot puts into
your hunting flask, by mixing with it a quanti-
ty of water ! In my last trip to the mountains,
where I was first ^ide and turpret,« they gave
me a taste now and then, and I never found it
do me harm ; but the nature of an Ingian is dif-
ferent, you know."

" Well, Baptiste," said Reginald, smiling at
his follower's defence of his favourite beverage ;
** I will say, that I never knew you to take
more than you could carry ; but your head is
as strong as your back, and you sometimes
prove the strength of both."

The conversation was suddenly interrupted

by tho report of Reginald's rifle, and a grey

•qnhrrel fell from the top of a hickory, where he

III -»

was feasting in fancied security, Baotiste toox
up the little animal, and having examined it at-
tentively, shook his head gravely, saying, " Mas-
ter Reginald, there is not a quicker eye, nor a
truer hand in the Territory, but — "

As he hesitated to finish the sentence, Regi-
nald added laughing, '*but — but — I am an ob-
stinate fellow, because I will not exchange my
favourite German rifle, with its heavy bullet, for
a long Virginia barrel, with a ball like a pea \
is it not so, Baptiste 1" .

The guide's natural good-humour struggled
with prejudices which, on this subjtet, had been
more than once wounded by his young compan-
ion, as he replied, *'Why, Master Reginald,
the deer, whose saddle is on my shoulder, found
my pea hard enough to swallow, and look here,
at this poor little varmint you have just killed,^
there is a hole in his neck big enough to let the
life out of a grisly bear ; you have hit him near-
ly an inch farther back than I taught you to aim
before you went across the great water, and
learnt all kinds of British and German notions 1"

Reginald smiled at the hunter's chafacteris-
tic reproof, and replied in a tone of kindness,
" Well, Baptiste, all that I do know of tracking
a deer, or 'lining a bee, or of bringing down one
of these little vermint, I learned first from you ;
and if I am a promising pupil, the credit is due
to Baptiste, the best hunter in forest or prairie !"

A glow of pleasure passed over the guide's
sunburnt countenance ; and grasping in his hard
and horny fingers his yodng master's hatid, he
said, " Thank'ee, Master Rsginald ; and as for
me, though I'm only a poor * Coureur des hois,'* I
a'nt feared to back my pupil against any man that
walks, from Dan Boone, of Kentucky, to Bloody*
hand, the great war-chief of the Cayugas."

As 'he spoke, they came in sight of the river,
and the blue, smoke curling up among the trees,
showed our travellers that they had not missed
their path to Michael's log-house and ferry.
"What have we heret" exclaimed Baptiste,
catching his companion by the arm ; " 'tis even
as I ^told you : the old rogue is smoking his
pipe over a glass of brandy in his kitchen cor-
ner ; and there is a wild-looking Indian pulling
himself across with three horses in that crazy
batteau, almost as old and useless as its owner I"

** He will scarcely reach the opposite bank,'*
said Reginald ; " the river is muddy and swoll-
en with melted snow, and his horses seem dis-
posed to be unquiet passengers."

They had now approached near enough to

?!nable them to distinguish the features of the
ndian in the boat; the guide scanned them
with evident surprise and interest, the result of
which was, a noise that broke from him, seme*
thing between a grunt and a whistle, as he
muttered, " What can have brou^t him here 1"
" Do you know that fine-looking fellow, then 1'*
inquired Reginald.

" Know him. Master Reginald !^^oes < Wolf*
know Miss Lucyl — does a bear know a bee*
tree? — I should know him among a thousand
Red-skins, though he were twice as well dis-
guised. T^te-bleu, master, look at those wild
brutes how they struggle; he and they will
taste Muskingum water before long."

* ** GoQiemr dei bols.*' an appell&tioii often ^vsn toUis
Oumdian ond hslf-breed wooduiaa.

THE PRAIRJE-BIRD.

15

,Whfle be ^as speaking one of the horses
reared, another kicked furiously, the shallow
flat boat was upset, and both they and the In-
dian fell headlong into the river ; they had been
secured together by a "laryette" or thong of
hide, which unfortunately came athwart the In-
dian's shoulder, and thus he was held below the
water, while the struggles of the frightened ani-
mals rendered it impossible for him to extricate
himself "He is entangled in the laryetie,*'
Mya ihe guide; ** nothing can save him,'* he
added in a grave and sadder toncL ** 'Tis a no-
ble youth, and I would have wished him a braver
death ! What are you doing, Master Reginald 1
— are you madi No man can swim, in that
torrent. For your father's sake—"

But his entreaties and attempts to restrain
his impetuous companion were fruitless, for
Reginald had hlready thrown on the ground his
leaUiern hunting shirt, his rifle, and ammunition ;
and shaking qff the grasp of the guide as if the
latter had been a chi|d, he plunged intbthe river,
and swam to the spot where the' feebler strug-
gles of the horses showed that they were now
almost at the mercy of the current. When he
reached them, Reginald dived below the near-
est, and dividing the laryette with two or three
successful strokes of his knife, brought the ex-
hausted Indian to the surface ; for a moment,
he feared that he had come too late ; but on in-
haling a breath of air, the Redskin seemed to
regain both consciousness and strength, and
was able in his~turn to assist Reginald, who had
received, when under water, a blow on the
head from the horse's hoof, the blood flowing
fast from the wound ; short but expressive was
the greeting exchanged as they struck out for
the bank which one of the horses had already
gained; another was bruised, battered, and
tossed about among some shelving rocks lower
down the river ; and the third was fast hurried
towards the same dangerous spot, when the In-
dian, uttering a shrill cry, turned and swam again
towards this, his favourite horse, and by a great
exertion of skill and strength, brought it to a
part of the river where the current was less
rapid, and thence led it safely ashore.

These events had passed in less time than
their narration has occupied, and the whole bi-
ped and quadruped party now stood drenched
and dripping on the bank. The two young men
gazed at each other in silence, with looks of
mingled interest and adn|iration; indeed, if a
sculptor had desired to place together two diflTer-
ent specimens of youthful manhoocU in which
symmetry and strength were to be gracefully
united, he could scarcely ha^e selected two finer
models : in height they might be about equal ;
and though the frame and muscular proportions
of Reginald were more powerful, there was a
roundness and compact knitting of the joints,
and a sf^newy suppleness in the limbs of his new
acquaintance, such as he thought he had never
seen equalled in statuary or in life. The In-
dian's gaze was so fixed and piercing, that Regi-
nald's eye wandered more than once firom his
eountenance to the belt, where his war-club was
still suspended hj a thong, the scalp-knife in its
sheath, and near it a scalp, evidently that of a
white man, and bearing the appearance of hav-
ing been recently taken.

With a slight shudder of disgust, he raised

his eyes again to the chiselled features oi the
noble-looking being before him, and felt assured
that though they might be those of a savage
warrior, they could not be those of a lurking as-
sassin. The Indian now moved a step forward,
and taking Reginald's hand, placed it upon his
own heart, saying distinctly in English, ^*My
brother V

.Reginald understood and appreciated this sim-
ple expression of Watitude and friendship; he
imitated his new friend's action, and evinced,
both by his looks and the kindly tones of his
voice, the interest which, to his own surprise,
the Indian had awakened in. his breast.

At this juncture they were joined by the
guide, who had paddled himself across in a
canoe that he found at the fenigr, whibh was two
hundred yards above the spot where they now
stood. At his approach, the young Indian ro-
sumed his silent attitude of repose ; while ap«
parently unconscious of his presence, Baptiste
poured upon his favourite a mingled torrent of
reproofs and congratulations.

"Why, Master Reginald, did the mad spirit
possess you-io jump into the Muskingum, and
dive like an olter, where the water was swift
and dark as the Niagara rapids ! Pardie,
though, it was bravely done ! another minute,
and our Redskin friend would have been in the
hunting-ground of his forefathers. Give me
your band, master; I love you better than
ever ! I had a mind to take a duck myself after
ye ; but thought, if bad luck came, I might serve
ye better with the canoe." While rapidly ut-
tering these broken sentences, he handed to
Reginald the hunting-shirt, rifle, and other
things, which he had brought over in the canoe,
and wrung the water out of his cap, being all
the time in a state of ill-dissembled excitement
This done, he turned to the young Indian, who
was standing aside, silent and motionless. The
guide scanned his features with a searching
look, and then muttered audibly, " I knew- it
must be he."

A gleam shot from the dark eye of the Indian,
proving that he heard and understood the
phrase, hut not a word escaped his lips^

Reginald, unable to repress his curiosity, ex-
claimed, " Must be who, Baptiste 1 Who is my
Indian friend — ^my brother 1"

A lurking smile played round the mouth of
the guide, as he said in a low tone to the In-
dian, " Does the paint «n my brother's face tell
a talet is his path in the night 1 miist his name
dwell between shut lips V*

To this last question the Indian, moving for-
ward with tifat peculiar grace and innate dig-
nity ' which characterized all his movements,
replied, "The War-Eagle hides his name from
none : his cry is heard from far, and his path
is strait : a dog's scalp is at his belt !" Here
he paused a moment ; and added, in a softened
tone, " But the bad Spirit prevailed ; the waters
were too strong for him ; the swimming-war-
rior's knife came ; and again the War-Eagle
saw the light."

" And found a brother— 4s it not so 1" added
Reginald.

" It is so !" replied the Indian : and there
was a depth of pathos in the tone of his voipe
as he spoke, which convinced Reginald that
those words came from the heart.

i4

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

<< There were three horses with yoa in the
Inic/' said the guide: **two are under yonder
trees ; — where is the third V*

" Dead, among those rocks below the rapids,"
answered War-Eagle, quietly. ** He wai a fool,
and was taken fyom a fool, and both are now
together :" as he spoke he^ointed scornfully to
the scalp which hung at his belt.

Reginald and Baptiste interchanged looks of
tip^asy curiosity, and then directing their eyes
towards the distant spot indicated by the In-
dian, they distinguished the battered carcass of
the animal, partly hid by the water, and partly
resting against the rock, which prevented it
from floating down with the current.

"The party now turned towards the horses
among the trees ; which, after enjoying them-
.seiyes by rotting' in the grass, were feeding,
apparently unconscious of their double misde-
meanour in having first upset the bac, and then
nearly drowned their master by their struggles
in the water. As Reginald and bis two com-
panions approached, an involuntary exclama-
tion of admiration burst Oom him.

** Heavens, Baptiste! did you ever see so
magnificent a creature as that with the laryette
round his neck 1 And what a colour ! it seems
between chestnut and black ! Look at his short,
wild head, bis broad forehead, his bold eye, and
that long silky mane falling below his shoulder !
Look, also, at his short back and legs ! Why,
he has the beauty of a barb joined^o the strength
of an English hunter !*'

It may be well imagined that the greater por-
tion of this might have been a soliloquy, as
Baptiste understood but few, the Indian none,
of the expressions which Reginald uttered with
enthusiastic rapidity; both, however, under-
stood enough to know that he was admiring
the animal, and both judged that his admiration
was not misplaced.

Our hero (for so we must denominate^Regi-
nald Brandon) approached to handle and car&s
the horse ; but the latter, with erect ears and
expanded nostrils, snorted an indignant refusal
of these civilities, and trotted off, tossing high
his mane as if in defiance of ihan*s dominion.
At this moment, the War*EagIe uttered a shrill,
peculiar cry, when immediately the ohedient
horse came to his side, rubbing his bead against
his master's shoulder, and courting those ca-
resses which he had so lately and so scornfully
refused from Reginald.

While the docile and intelligent animal thus
stood beside him, a sudden ray of light sparkled
in the Indian's eye, as with rapid utterance, not
unmingled with gesticulation, he»said, "The
War-Eagle*s path was toward the evening sun ;
his tomahawk drank the Comanchee's blood;
the wild horse was swift, and strong, and fierce ;
the cunning man on the evening prairie said he
was Nekimi*-^* the Great Spirit's angry breath ;'
but the War-Eagle*s neck-buUet struck" —

At this part of the narrative, the guide, car-
Hed away by the enthusiasm of the scene de-
scribed, ejaculated in the Delaware tongue,
•'That was bravely done !"

For a moment the young Indian paused ; and
tlien, with increased rapidity and vehemence,
told in his own language how he had cap-

• NekiBil !■ the Dclawan for "Thunder

n

tured and subdued the horse; which faitbfiu
creature, seemingly anxious to bear witness to
the truth of his master's tale, still sought aad
returned his caresses. The Indian, however,
was not thereby deterred from the purpose
which had already made bis eye flash with plea-
sure. Taking the thong in his hand, and plac-
ing it in that of Reginald, he said, resuming the
English tongue, " The War-Eagle gives Nekimi
to his brother. The .white warrior may Qunt
ttie mastoche,* he may overtake his enemies,
he may fly from the prairie-fire when the wihd
is strong : Nekimi never tires !"

Reginald was so surprised at this unexpected
ofifer, that he felt much embarrassed, and hesi-
tated whether he bught not to decline the gift.
Baptiste saw a cloud^gathering on the Indian's
brow, and said in a low voice to his master ia
French, ** You must take the horse ; a refusal
would mortally ofiTend him." Our hero accor-
dingly accompanied his expression of thanks
with eve^ demonstration of satisfaction and
aflTection. Again War-Eagle's face brightened
with pleasure; but the effect upoa Nekimi
seemed to be very difl[erent, for he stoutly re-
sisted his new master's attenipts at approach
or acquaintance, snorting and backing at- ev^ery
step made by Reginald in advance.

** The white warrior must learn to speak to
Nekimi," said the Indian, quietly ; and he a^ain
repeated the short, shrill cry before noticed. In
vain our hero tried to imitate the sound ; the
horse's ears remained deaf to his voice, and it
seemed as if his new acquisition could prove but
of little service to him.

War-Eagle now took Reginald asade, and
smeared his hands with some grease taken from
a small bladder in his girdle, and on his extend-
ing them again toward the horse, much of the
fear, and dislike evinced by the latter disap-
peared. As soon as the animal would permit
Reginald to touch it, the Indian desired him to
hold its nostril firmly in his hzfnd, and placing
his face by the horse's head, to look up stead-
fastly into its eye for several minutes, speaking
low at intervals to accustom it to his voice ;
he assured him that in a few days Nekimi
would through this treatment become docile
and obedient

CHAPTER VL

Bflglnald and Baptiste pay a visit to War-eagle.— An at
tempt at trtpeheiy meets with summary punhthment.

Thb other horse being now secured, the party
prepared to resume their journey; and as it^
appeared after a few words whispered between
the Indian and the guide, that their routes were
in the same direction, they struck into the for-
est, Baptiste leading, followed by Reginald, and
War-Eagle bringing up the rear with the two
horses.

After walking a few minutes in silence, ** Bap«
tiste," said our hero in French, ** what was the
story told about the horse t I understood little
of what he said in English, and none of what he
spoke in his own tongue."

— - -y— ^

* In the Delaware lansaafe tliis expression seems ap-
plicable to any laife swln animal, aa it is given to the elll
the buflhlo, 4bc

/^

*

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

17

** fll« told us, Master Reginald, that he was \
out on a war-party against the Gamancfaees, a
wild tribe (Mf Indians in the South-west ; they
steal horses from the Mexicans, and exchange*
them with the ArvaxoM^ .Kioways, Pawnees,
•aiidi4>therMis80iirr Indians."

*< Well, Baptiste, how did be take this ewift
liorse with his * neck-bullet,' as he called it V

** lliat, Master Reginald, is the most difficult
shot in the prairie ; and I have known few Red-
skins op to it. The western hunters call it
* creasing :'— a ball mnst be shot just on the up-
per edge of the spine where it enters the horse's
neck ; if it is exactly done, the horse falls im-
mediately, and is secured, then the wound is
afterwards healed; but, if the ball strikes an
•inch kywei^ the spine is missed, or the horse is
•killed. .Few Redskins can do it," muttered the
^de, "and the 'doctor' here," shaking his
long rifle, *' haa foiled more than once ; but
War-Eagle has said it, and there are no lies in
*itt mouth.''

''Tell me, Baptiste," said Reginald, earn-
estly ; '* tell me something about mybrother's
'history, his raee, and exptoits?"

" Afterwards, my young master. >I know not
4hat he understands us now ; bi>t these Indians
^are curious critturs in hearing ; I believe if you
spoke in that strange Dutch lingo which you
learnt across the water, the Redskins would
know how to answer yoii^-etay,'* be added, put*
ting his rifle to his shoulder, *^ here is work for
' the doctor."

Reginald looked in the direction x)f the piece,
but saw nothing ; and the guide, while taking
his aim, still muttered to himself, ** the pills are
very small, but they work somewhat sharp."
Pausing a moment, he drew the trigger ;, and a
sudden bound from under a brake, at fiAy yards
distance, was the last death-spring of the un-
lucky deer whose lair had not escaped the hun-
ter's practised eye.

" Bravely tshot," shouted Reginald ; " what
.says War-Eagle 1"

" Grood," replied theJndiao.

"Nay," said Baptiste ; '* there was not much
m the shot; but your French waly-de-sham
^might have walked past those bushes without
-noting the twinkle of that crittur's eye. Our
-Redskin friend saw it plain enough I warrant
you," he added, with an inquiring look.

''War-Eagle's path is not on the deer track,"
said the young chief, with a stem gravity.

In a very few minutes an additional load of
venison was across the sturdy shoulders of the
guide, and the party resumed their march in
silence.

They had not proceeded .far, when the Indian
halted, saying, "War* Eagle's camp is near;
will my white brother eat and smoke 1—>the sun
is high, he can then return to his great wig-
wam." /

Reginald, who was anxious to see more of
bis new friend, and in whom the morning's ex-
ercise had awakened a strong relish for a slice
of broiled venison, assented.at once, and desired
him to lead the way.

As he was still followed by the two horses,
War-Eagle was soQ%ewhat in advance of his
eompanicms* and Baptiste whispered in Freneh,
" Beware, Master Reginald — ^yoa may fall into

Amp.'*

" For shame," said the latter, oolooring with
indignation; "can you suspect treachery m
Atm? Did you not yourself say he could not
lie 1"

" Your reproof is undeserved," said the cool
and wary hunter; "War-Eagle may^ot be
alone, there n^y be turkey-buzzards with him.'*

'^If there be a score of vultures," said Regi-
nald, "I will follow him without fear— he would
not lead us into barm."

"Perhaps you are right," was the guide's
answer; and again the party resumed their
march in silence.

They soon arrived at a place where the forest
was less densely wooded ; «onie of the -larger
trees appeared to hove been overthrown by a
hurricane, and some of the lesser to have fallen
by the axe. Nekimi trotted forward, as if mak-
ing for a spot that he recognised, and the In-
dian recalled him with the same cry that he
had before used, adding, however, another, smd
a shriller sound.

The guide -shook his head, -and muttered
something tnaudibly between his teeth, looseB-
ing at the samie time the huge ^xe in his bek,
and throwing his long rifle over 'his arm, rea^
for immediate use.

These preparatione did not escape the obser-
vation of Reginald ;.and although he said noth-
ing, he felt more uneasy than he cared' to own ;
for it struck him that if the guide, who seemed
to have so high an opinion of War-Eagle, was
apprehensive of treachery or of somevunfore-
seen danger, there was less ground for his own
confidence. ,

Meantime the Indian walked composedly <br-
ward until he reached the cain;»,* — a pretty
spot, sheltered on the windward side by a laurel
thicket, and on the other commanding a view of
the open glade, and of a small stream winding
its silent course towards the river which our
party had so lately left.

On a grassy plot, between two venerable
trees, the embers ef a smouldering fire sent up
the thin blue vapour which risee from the burn-
ing of green wood, several logs of which were
still piled for fud; while sundry bones and
feathers, scattered at no great distance, gave
sufficient evidence of recent feasting.

War-Eagle glanced hastily around his camp ;
and leaving Nekimi to feed at liberty, secured
the less tractable horse ; while he was thus cm-
ployed, the guide whispered in a low voice,
" There are three or four Indians here ! I trace
their marks on the grass, and I knew it by this
fire; it is a war party — ^there are no squaws
here; Master I^giiald, keep your 'CM^ and
eyes open, but showno distrust ; if he offers a
pipe, all may yet be right."

Although the guide said this so distinctly that
Reginald heard every syllable, he was to all ap-
pearance busily engaged in throwing some dry
sticks on the fire, and easing himself of the
skins and the venison with which he was load-
ed. The Indian now tqbk from sf hollow in one
of the old trees before-mentioned, a pipe, the
howl of which was of red sandstone, and the

* Among the weslem hunters any resting-plaee for the
night, or eve^ki where a fire has been made for a mid-day
halt, though it may be by one individaal, is commonly
called ** a camp.'* This mnst be borne in mind throofh
oat tlM folloviiiQf tale.

i

18

Iflfi PRAI'KIE-

8tidc p&mted and ornamented with staindd por-
cupine quills ; be also drew out a leather bag of
KifMe-knuk ;* and having filled and tighted his
pipe, seated himself at a short distance froai
the £re, and gravely invited Reginald to sit on
his right, and the guide on his left. Ab soon as
they were seated, War-Eagle inhaled a lai^
Yolume of smoke ; and looking reverently up to
the sky, sent forth a Ipog whiff, as an offering to
the Great Spirit; then simply saying, "My
brother is welcome," he passed the pipe to Re-
ginald, and afterwards to Baptiste.

For some time they smoked in silence : not
a sound was heard biA the crackling of the
wood on the fire, and the occasional chirrup of
41 robiA in the neigfabourinff bushes ; tiiis silent
system not suiting Reginald's ardent tempera-
nent^ be abruptly addressed the Indian as fol-
lows :

*' Has my brother come far from his peo-
ple T

A cloud gathered en the chiers brow, and
the guide thought that a storm of wrath would
be excited by this unlucky question ; but the
Indian looking steadily upon the frank open
countenance 9C the itpeaker, replied in a voice
rather melancholy than fierce, *' War- Eagle has
few people: the bones of his fathers are not
farr

Our hero anxious to dismiss a subject which
seemed painful to his new friend, turned the
conversation to his ecpiipment, nnd observed,
" My brother walks abroad without fear ; he is
abnost without arms."

t The Indian carelessly resting his band upon
his war-club, said (speaking rather to himself
than to his companions^ "It has tasted blood :
ask the Dahcotahs !"

" The Dahcotahs are dogs," saM the guide
angrily. " Their skins are red, but their l^arts
nie white !?

War-Eagle turning upon him a penetrating
look, continued, " Oraade-H&che is a warrior ;
he has smoked, has feasted> has fought among
the Lenape ;* he has struck more than one Dah-
cotah chief. But the Grande- H&che cannot
rest : the scalp of his mother hangs in the lodge
of the Assiniboiru ; f her spirit is unquiet in the
dark hunting-ground."

The guide made no reply, but the forced
compression of bis lips, and the muscular con-
traction that passed over his sinewy frame,
showed how deeply he cherished that vengeance
which the Indian's word awakened.

" This is, then," said our hero to himseU;
" the cause of that fierce unextinguishable hate
which Baptiste has always borne to these
Sioux ; I cannot wonder at it." Reginald con-
tinued, however, his conversation respecting
his new friend's equipment, in the same tone :
" My brother's war-club is strong, and that iron
spike in its head is sharp ; but the rifle kills
Irom far, and the white men are not all friends
to faiPL^' ^

* KtHiu-kiiuk to a ndxtare made by the udiand ftom
the inner bark of tbe willow pounded araall, tobacco, and
the dried leavei of the sumacli : the flavour of thia c<md-
poeitlon k by no means disagreeable ; the word itselfis
Delaware, but the miztore is In eonunon me amoof many
uibif.

*The Delawares call themselTte Leaai-Benape,— ** the
ancient or ori^al people.**

i JlsHntboins-^e "stone heaters**—* poweifhl aad
wailUKs branch of the great Dahcotah «r Skraz nattan.

** War-Eagle has ears and eyes ; he tia see
snak<es in the grass," was the cahn reply.

<* Nay, but my brother is careless," ntd Hegi-
ndd laughing; ** Gnndei^Htehe, as you eaU
him, and I are two men, both 8tiH>ng and artti-
ed with rifles : if we were not bis brotheny tfat
War-Eagle would be in danger."

"The bad Spirit made the thick ^wat6r«0d
the horses too strong for War-EaHie," said th«
latter, referring to the morning's accident, '* bat
he could not l^ hurt bj his brothers nie."

^' And why so t" demanded Regimdd.

<* Because," said the Indian, '< tbe white wat-
rior has smoked, has taken bis brather's m^
and the Gr^t Spirit has written on bis raee
that he cannot spes^ lies."

** You «re rights my breve fiiend," said Regi-
nald, (not a irttle gratified by the lintirtoi«a
compliment;) '*bat if you fall in with white
men who carry rifles, and who d9 speak lia»-^
how fares it with you then V*

** War-Eagle is always ready" said he, in the
same unmo^d tone; **the Grande- Hftohe is a
great warrior^^my brother will take man^
scalps; yet if their tongues were forked-^
their hearts were bad — both would die where
they now sit — ^they have neither ears nor eyes
— trat the Lenape is a chief, they are as boIb
here as in the great white village."

Though inwardly nettled at this taunt, Which
he felt to be not altogether undsserred, the
guide took no other notice of it than to straiik
to the utmost those organs of sight and hear-
ing which the Redskin had held so cheap, but
in vain : the forest around them seemed wrapt
in solitude and silence ; the eyes of ReginaJd,
however, served him better on this oecaslos.
" By heaven, the Indian speaks truth," said ba ;
" I see them plainly— one, two, three I and we^
Baptiste, are at their mercy."

This he spoke in rrench, and tbe guide an*
swered in the same language : *' Do you see
Indians, Master Reginald, where I can see
naught but trees, and logs, and grass ; if it ir
so— I am an owl, and no hunter f "

** Glance your eye," said our hera, calmly, to^
yon old fallen log, that lies fifty or sixty yards
to your right, there are three small parallel tines
visible there, — they are three gun-barrels ; the
son shone on them a minute since, and their
muzzles are directed full npon us."

"It is true; your e^es are younger than
mine, I suppose," said the guide, apparently
more disconcerted at that circumstance than at
the imminent peril of their situation. He add-
ed, in a low, determined tone, ** but they muar
shoot very true, if they wish to prevent me froii
taking this deep and deceitfhl villain with ma
on the long journey."

During the whole of this contersation, War-
Eagle sat in unmoved silence, occasionally pul^
iing out a whifT from the fragrant herb in his
pipe. Reginald met the unexpected dangei
with the straightforward, daring oourage whidi
was the characteristic of his mind ; Baptiste
with the cool resolution which was the restilt
of a life of perils, stratagems, and escapes.

'* War-Eagle," said the former, "you speak
true i Grand-HAche and I have shut our eyea
and ears; but they are now open^ I see year
warriors."

The Indian turned his searching ^e fWtt opoii

THE PRAlRiE-BlAD.

19

^

the speaker ; he met a look bold, open, fearless
18 his ovfrn. •« Where can my white brother
see warriors ?" he inquired.

•* Their gons are across yonder log/* said Re-
ginald ; ** and their muzzles are pointed here.**

** It is so," said War-Eagle ; ** the red men
are on the war-path ; ^tbey seek blood ; is my
whits brother not afraid 1"

"War-Eagle is a chief," replied the young
man; "he cannot lie,— ^he has said that his
white brother is as safe as in the wigwam of
his father!"

Again the Indian bent a scrutinizing look
apon the coontenance of the speaker, and again
jiet the same smile of fearless confidence. With
more emotion than he had yet shown, he said,
*The Great Spirit has given to my wjiite broth-
er the big heart of a Lenape !"

Hie now made a signal to his ambuscade to
eome forth, on which they started up from be-
hind the large fallen tree which had hitherto
screened them, and advs^nced slowly towards
the camp. They were three fn number ; two
of them active looking men, of moderate stat-
ttre, but of symmetrical proportions ; the third
a lad, apparently about seventeen years old ;
the feces of the two former were painted with
black stripes, which gave them an appearance
at once fierce and grotesque ; they were lightly
dad hi hunting shirts, leggins, and mocassins,
an of dk-skin, and each carried a tomahawk,
scalp-knife, and the gun before mentioned ; the
young lad carried no other weapon but the gun ;
his hunting-shirt was foncifully ornamented
with tassels of porctipine quills* and was fas-
tened at the wnist by a belt studded with party-
cdbured beads ; his leggins were fringed, and
his mocassins were also braided with the quills
of the porcupine ; in figure be was slight and
taH; as be drew near, Reginald thought his
countenance even more remarkable than that
of War-Eagle ; indeed its beauty would have
been almost effeminate, had it not been for the
raven blackness of the hair, and the piercing
fife of the dark eyes. The three came forward
in sfience, the lad beibg rather in advance of
the others, and stood before the War-Eagle.

He bade them in his own language to be
seated, and smoke the pipe with the white men.
Tliey did so, with the exception of the lad, who
oot being yet a warrior, passed it untouched ;
and when it had gone round, War-Eagle har-
angued his party ; as he narrated the events of
the morning, Reginald was struck by the deep
and flexible modulation of his voice ; and al-
though he did not understand a word of the
language, fancied that he knew when the chief
related his immersion and subsequent preserva-
tion by the white man's knife.

At this portion of the tale, the Indian youth
made no attempt to conceal his emotion ; his
glistening ^es were fixed upon the speaker,
and every feature of his intelligent countenance
seamed with affectionate interest: as War-
Eagle described his being struck under water,
•tunned by a blow from a horse's foot, and that
the thick water covered him, a hurried excla-
marion escaped fi-om the boy's lips ; and when
his chief related how the white warrior had
dived, had cut the cord in which he was entan-
eled, and had brought him again to the air and
to life, the youth, no longer able to control his

feelings, threw himself mto ReginSld*B anus,
exclaiming in good English,

** The Great Spirit reward the white warri-
or : he has given me back my chief— my liroth-
er!"

Our hero was no less astonished than was
the guide, at such uncontrolled emotion m a
youth of a nation so early taught to conceal
their feelings ; nor were they less surprised at
the clearness and purity of accent with whicl^
he expressed himself in English.

** I only did, my boy," said Reginald, kindly,
*' what you would have done had you been in
my place."

'* Yon are a great warrior," said the yoathy
ruikning his eye over the powerful frame beside
him : " Wingenund would have |[one into the
strong river, and would have died with the
War-Eagle."

" Is Wingenund) then, your name, my brave
boyi"

"It was my forefather's name," said the
youth, proudly. **I have ybt no name: but
War-Eagle says I may have one soon, and I
will have no other."

"I feel sure you well deserve your forefo-
ther's name," said Reginald. ** What does it
mean in my language 1"

*♦ It means * The Beloved t' "

**The youth speaks true," murmured the
guide (who, thou^ busily engaged in rounding
off a bullet with his Icnife, lost not a word or
gesture that passed), ** he speaks only tmth ; I
knew his forefather well : a braver and better
heart never dwelt among the Lenap^."

The boy looked gratefully at the weather-
beaten hunter ; and as he cast his eyes down
in silence, it would have been difikult to say
whether pleasure, pride, or pain, predominated ^
in their expression.

" Tell me," resumed Reginald, ** hew come
you to speak English like a white man V[

" The good father and Olitipa taught me."

Reginald looked at the guide for an explana-
tion; that worthy personage sjiook his head,
saying, " The boy talks riddles ; but they are
not hard to guess. The good-father must be
some missionary, or priest ; and Olitipa would
in their tongue signify * pretty prairie-fowl ;' so
it is probably the name of a Delaware woman —
perhaps his sister."

** Kehella /o-hso it is," said the boy : << Oli-
tipa is in your tongue ' pretty prairie-bird,* and
she is my sister."

"Where is Prairie-bfad 1" inquired Regmald,
amused by the youth's ttaiveti..

" Far, far away, beyond the great river ! But
we will go back soon; — shall we notl" he in-
quired, looking up timidly at War-Eaglei

"Pechu Unitti"* answered the chief; and
leaning towards the youth, he added some
words in a whisper, which made him start up
to obey the orders he had received.

Reginald was not long lefl in ignorance of
their nature, as in a few minutes the active lad
had refreshed the fire, and was busy in broiling
seme venison steaks, which, after the exerciBS
of the morning, sent up a steam far from un-
pleasant to^he senses of any of those present.

"Master Reginald," said the guide, "that

• " By^ud-l^,** or *• sooo**

so

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

mOj penoqnet of yoare, Gostave Perrot, is al-
ways telling fine stories of what he has seen in
Europe, and talking of the scent of roses, and
«ne sweet sounds of music, till the girls in the
clearins think he's a book-author and a poet ;
did you ever smell any scent, or hear any music,
sweater than comes from the hissing and friz-
zing Tof those slices of fat Tenison dler a six
hours' hunt in the woods 1"

** Perhaps not," said Reginald, laughing ; "but
we are only hunters, an4 Monsieur Perrot is a
man of taste.'' •

** Whom have we here V grumbled the guide,
as an Indian appeared in the distance. *' Friend
War-Eagle, is this another of your bandl'*

"He is," repUed' the chief: "all are now
nere.**

The new-comer was a powerful, athletic-
looking man ; his face was painted one half
black, and the other half striped with bars of
red ; the sleeves of his hunting-sliirt were so
ahoiji and loose, that his naked arms were visi-
ble, one of which was tatooed in the form of a
lizard, and on the other he wore an armlet of
brass ; his leggins and mocassins were soiled
and torn, and the perspiration streaming from
his matted hair shewed that he had travelled
both far and fast. He was, like the rest, equip-
ped with rifle, tomahawk, and scalp-knife ; his
countenance, as far as it could be distinguished
through its disguise of paint, was expressive of
cunning and ferocity. Though probably much
surprised- at seeing two white men sitting thus
amicably with his chief, he took little notice of
them, or of the rest of the party ; but without
asking, of being asked, any questions, seated
himself on the opposite side of the fire, lighted
his pipe, and smoked.

" Master Reginald," said the guide, in French,
" I do not like that fellow. I know not how he
comes to be with our friend here, for he belongs
to another tribe : I have seen him before."

Meantime, the industrious lad had broiled his
venison steaks, and having gathered some broad
leaves, which served on this occasion for plates,
he brought the first slice to Reginald, the se-
cond to Baptiste, the next to War-Eagle, and
so on, until he went through the party \ afler
which, without tasting anything himself, he
took his station close to his chief and his new
friend. During the meal, the Indian last ar-
rived talked much in a suppressed voice to the
one next to him, and seemed studiously to
avert his eyes from his chief and the two white
men.

"Tarh6," said War-Eagle, addressing him,
" is there not tasamanane* for the stranger 1 he
is my brother, and his path has been long." .

Taih6 went to his " cache," a spot not many
yards aistant, and taking out two, or three small
cakes, brought them round behind his chief, and
offered one to our hero, who was in the act of
receiving it, when the miscreant, drawing the
knife from his girdle, aimed a blow at the back
of the unsuspecting Reginald.

Nothing could have saved him from instant
death, had not the gallant boy thrown himself
between the savage and his victim. The knife
went through his arm ; and so deadly was the

* Tastmanand : a kind of bread made by the Delawares
for long Joarneyi. It ia made of maize, powdered veiy
ine, sDd f weetened with maple lufur.

force by which it was guided, that it stiH de-^
scended, and inflicted a slight scratch on Regi-
nald's shoulder. ^

War-Eagle sprang like a tiger from the
ground, and with one blow of his tremendous
war-club dashed the rufiSan to the earth ; then
turning suddenly his angry glance upon the two
other Indians, he asked if they had any Q^rt in
Tarh^'s plot. Neither had stirred from his
seat, and both declarod they had known nothing
of his intention. It was well for them that the
chief believed them, for this act of vlls treachery
had aroused all the slumbering fire within him,
and the veins started like blue cords upon his
temples.

Reginald's first impulse, when he jumped
upon his feet, was to hasten to th^ wounded
youth, whose features were now lighted up by
a smile of happiness. " Tell me, my brave
generous boy, are you raach'hurt 1" ' '

"No," said he: "I should have been hurt
if the War-Eagle's camp had been stained with
the blood of his white brother."

The sturdy guide himself could not repress
his admiration of this gallant boy's conduct,
who now stood looking intently upon War-
Eagle, his features animated by excitement
and by pride, and the knife still &ced up to the
very handle in his arm..

" War-Eagle," said Baptiste, " the 'Lenap6
are men, — their boys are warriors : that dog is
not a Lenape," he added, pointing to the pros-
trate body of Tarh6.

" Tah'DelanuUtenos,*** said the chief indig-
nantly. The youth now moving a step forward,
came before his chief with an air of modest
dignity, and slowly drew the reeking knife from
his arm, while a stream of blood gushed from
the wound ; not a muscle of his frame trembled,
not a feature varied its expression, as he said
in a voice of musical gentleness, " War-Eagle,
will Wingenund allow bis grandson now to l^ar
hisnanrel"

" Wingenund P* said War-Eagle, looking upon
him with afiTectionate pride, " the chiefs at the
Council-fire shall know that the blood of the
well-beloved still flows in a young warrior's
veins." ^

'' My good frisnd," said the guide to the chief,
** you have no time to lose, the lad will bleed to
death !"

Reginald sprang forward, and dosing as he
best could the gaping wound, bound hw hand-
kerchief tightly over it.

There was, indeed, no time to be lost ; for the
blood had flowed more freely than his youthful
frame could endure. A painful dizziness came
over him; and murmuring almost inaudibly
" The White Warrior is safe, and Wingenund
is happy," he fell senseless into Reginald's arms.

* " Tah-Delamattenoa,**— *< No^ he U a Wyandot." Tttkk
tribe occupied the region to the north of Ohio, and the
north-west of Pennsylvania ; they spoke a dialect of the
IioquoiSi and are better known by the name of Horone :
they sometimes hunted with the Delaware, by whom
they were designated aa above.

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

tl

ciuPTER vn.

ISwtBliiiDg MOM partienlan of the history of tha two
Ddawuw and of Baptiste. The latter retunu with
Beginald to Mooehaane, the residence of Ck>l0De)
Bmndon.

"I riAS he will die !" said Reginald in a tone
of the deepest grief, as he stooped over the in-
Boimate form of the wounded boy.

"Die !" said the War-Eagle, almost fiercely,
''yes, he will die ! but not by the bite of yonder
serpent," pointing to the body of the Wyandot ;
** he will die when the Great Spirit orders it ; but
before he dies, the mnrderers of his father shall
hMr his war-whoop ! His tomahawk shall be
Ted in tbeir blood ; their scalpb shall hang at his
belt! that Wingenund may ge to his ancient
people in the happy hunting fields !**

"My brother," said Reginald earnestly, and
still supporting the Insensible frame of Winge-
nand, " do not lead this youth to shed the white
man's blood ! He cannot call back those who
are gone ! We have a book which the Great
Spirit gave to our forefathers ; it spea1(s His
own words, and He tells us, 'Vengeance i^
mine ;' and He also tells us that if we would
please Him, we must focgive those who have
injured us ; His arrows are very sharp ; His
aoger is fierce ; His justice is sure. Leave Him
to punish those bad men, and teach the *weU-
beloved' to be the white man's friend."

For a minute the chief seemed buried in deep
tkoDght ; then suddenly starting from his reve-
rie, he spoke a few words in a low tone to one
of his men, who instantly moved away, and dis-
appeared in the forest.

War-Eagle then replied in a tone rather of
melancholy than of reproof, " The Great Spirit
never speaks to the red man in wards : if He is
(mgiy, He thunders ; if He is pleased, He sends
rain and sunshine, to make the com and fruits
to grow, and sweet grass to fatten the deer ; my
brother says the Great Spirit has spoken plainly
to the white man in words, and that those
words are painted in a book. War-Eagle be-
lieves it, because my brother's tongue is not
forked; but he would ask, — ^Did those white
men, who came in the night like wolves to the
couch of the fawn, who murdered the father,
the kindred, the little sisters of Wingenund, —
did those men hear the Great Spirit's words?**

"My brother," said Reginald, "there are
among white men mafky wolves and serpents :
men whose hands are bloody, and their tongue
forked. The Great Spirit does not forbid to
punish, or even to kill such men, in defence of
ourselves, oar wigwams, our children, or our
friend ; He is not angry with War-Eagle for
striking down that Huron whose hand was
raised to shed his brother's blood ; but when
the grass of many seasons has grown over the
graves of those who were injured, then the
Great Spirit commands man to let his anger
sleep, to bury his hatchet, and to forgive."

"It may be so," said War-Eagle gravely,
"the Good Father in the Western Hunting-
ground has said the same ; Olitipa, whose voice
is like the mocking-bird, and who speaks only
truth, she has spoken the same ; but it is very
dark, War-Eagle cannot see it."

"Who is the Prairie-bird 1" inquired Regi-
nald, whose curiosity had twice been excited by
the mention of this extraordinary name.

Before the chief coultl reply, the Indian', whom
he had sent, returned with a mess made from
several leaves, herbs, and roots, which he had
bruised and reduced to a kind of glutinous pulp ;
War-Eagle now took off the bandage from the
youth's arm ; after examining it carefully, and
applying some of the above mixtures to both the
orifices of the wound, he bound it again, more
strongly and skilfully than before ; then taking
him in his arms, as if he had been a little childf
he carried him down to the rivulet ; and by dint
of bathing his temples and rubbing forcibly his
hands and feet, soon restored the suspended
animation.

When he was recovered so far as to be able
to speak, Reginald, sitting down by him, said a
thousand kind things to him, such as were
prompted by the gratitude of a generous heart.

While they were conversing, the guide drew
near to the chief; and pointing to the body of
the Wyandot, which still lay where he had fall-
en, said, " He is surely dead !"

**He is so," replied the other gravely, " when
War-Eagle is angry he does not strike his ene*
my*s forehead twice."

The guide now turned over the body; aid
seeing tnat the iron point of the war-elub had
entered just above the eyes, and had sunk deep
into the brain, he knew that instant death must
have ensued. The chief calling the two In-
dians, desired them to bury the body where it
would be safe from wolves and buzzards. ** But,**
he added sternly, " let not the spot be marked
for his kindred : he died like a dog, and none
should lament him."

As they turned away to execute these orders,
the guide observed to the chief ** that Huron
has not been long with the War-Eagle."

"True,— but how does the Grand-flAche
know it t**

" His eye has been on him more than once ;
Grande-H&che sees, but he can hold his tongue."

" Grande-H4che is a warrior," replied the
chief: *♦ he has seen many things ; he has talk-
ed with the wise men ; does he know why yon
Huron wished to kill the young white brave V*

" He does," said Grande-Hftche ; but as he
did not of himself state what he knew, it would
have been contrary to the usages of Indian
courtesy to question him farther.

Baptiste now diverting the conversation to
another topic, said, ** It is singular that War-
Eagle, on a war-path far from his village, should
have only strangers with him, excepting the
youth who is wounded !"

" What means the Grand-H&ohel"

**He means," replied the guide, '<that the
other two, now gone to bury the Huron, arc
Southern men* — ^they are not Lenape."

" Grande-Hftche has ears and eyes open-
how can he know that he speaks truth 1" said
the chief.

" Because he ha^ eyes and ears ;" replied the
guide. *' Does War-Ea^Ie think that Grande
Hiche has hunted twenty years among the red
nations, and kno^ws not yet the mocassin and

* Southern-men— in the Delaware language Cha-oua-
no or Shawano— known to the Americans as *'8haw
nee^'* This powerful tribe were generally in alliance
with the Lenape, and inhabited the country on their west-
ern frontier. About the time of our tale, they were very
numerous on the banks of the Muskingum and of thA
Wabash liver.

«»

Tl{£ PRAIHIf-BlI^O.

' \>iigtie of a Sbawanon 1 I knew ttem at a
glaDbe,*Vhe added, with a shrewd smile, **as
well as I kaew the War-Eagle in the batteau,
though both he and they have put on their faces
the paint of the Mengwe,"*

** 6rande-H4che speaks truth,'' replied the
<;hief^ dryly, without showing the surprise and
annoyance that he felt at the penetration of the
guide. ^ The men are Shawanons, they b«nt
with the Lenape/ beyond the great river — ^they
are brothers." ^ '

So saying, he brok^offthe conversation, and
taming towards Wingenund, saw that he was
talkmg as earnestly and freely with Reginald as
if they had been long intimate ; while he con-
templated this friendly intercourse with a smile
of satisfaction, the guide felt himself called
upon to rdmind his companion that the sun was
getting low, that they had yet some miles to
walk, and that the colonel would be anxious
and impatient

" True," said Reginald, springing up, « I must
take leave of my brother, and of my young prie-
server ; but we sh^ll meet again ; we will hunt
together, and be friends."
m " Let it be so," said the lad, ig[ith an aidoiir
which he cared not to conceal ; " and Winge-
nund will tell Prairie-Bird that the white warrior
who drew War-Eagle from the deep water, will
come to see her, and she will thank turn."

While the boy was speaking, the chief turned
away, and busied himself in fastening a thong-
halter firmly to the head of Nekimi, which he
again led to his new master.

Reginald now undid from his waist the silver
buckled belt with the couteau-de-chasse which
it supported, and buckling it round the youth,
he said, ** Wiogenund must wear this, and must
not forget his white friend."

The boy*s eyes sparkled with pleasure, as he
received this gift ; but he was still too weak to
stand, and he only murmured, in a low voice,
" Wingenund will not forget."

The chief now taking the guide aside, said to
him, in ^is own language, " How is my white
brother called ?"

" I call him « Master Reginald.* »t

After one or two ludicroas attempts at an imi-
tation, War-E^le shook his head, saying, " It
is not good— may liis Lenape friend call him
•Netis.'"

As soon as Reginald was informed of what
bad passed, and of the meaning of his new
name, he accepted it with pleasure, and Winge-
nund repeated it again and again as our hero
bid him farewell.

"^ar-Eagle insisted iipon aoconqtanying him,
and leading Nekimi through the forest, until
they reached the broad wheel track which pass-
ed Colonel Brandon's house, and thence led
through other clearings to the village of Mari-
etta. As they went along, Reginald desired
Baptists in a whisper to talk with the chief, and
endeavoured to draw from him, what article of
diess, ornament, or use, he would most value,

» -Blengwe, or Mlngoes,— the Delaware name for those
Indians who resided chiefly in the northern States of the
Union, and who are better Icnown as the " Iroquois."

t "Master Reginald,*' might well puzzle the chief, as
there is no letter R In the Delawiure language, though
■ome of them contrive to pronounce it V

**Neti8*' signifies in their tongue, "a trusted ftieod,"
"one to whom all secrets are confided.**

as he was anxious to make his Indian brothei
a present ; and the guide, by skilffilly manoeu
vring his conversation, sooft learned that War
Easle had, on this last excursion, lost his rifi^,
and that he was also short of ammunition.
They now emerged from the forest upon the
great road, if it might be so called, leading to
Marietta ; and the Indian putting the halter of
Nekimi into Reginald's hand, said that he would
return to his camp. Our hero, taking him by
the hand, said, "Netis wishes to see his brother
at this spot to-morrow at noon."

** War-Eagle will come," was the brief reply ;
and shaking both the whitemen cordially by
the hand, he turned and disappeared among the
trees.

• Reginald and the guide were within a few
miles of Colonel Brandon's house; bjut they
could not proceed very fast, owing to the evi-
dent reluctance shown by Nekimi to follow his
new master ; he neighed, shorted, jumped, and
played all manner of pranks in his endeavour to
get loose; but this War-Eagle had foreseen,
and the tough halter of undressed hide was well
enough secured to defy all his eilbrts at escape.

" This has been a strange day of adventures,
Baptiste," said Reginald ; "it has been to me
one of the pleasantest of my life V'

" Why, Master Reginald, it has been a day of
events, such as they are ; you have been twice
at the outside edge of t'other world, with water
and cold iron."

" Oh, there was not much harm in the water,"
said Reginald, laughing , " had it not been for
the knock which one of the horses gave me on
the head ; but that villanous attempt of the Hu-
ron makes me shudder ; — ^to offer a man food,
and stab him while he is taking it ! I thought
such a thing was unknown in Indian history."

" It is, almost/' said the guide. " But a Hu-
ron—and a Dacotah!" he added, bitterljr, —
*' would murder a brother to gratify revenge."

" But I had , never injured him, Baptiste.^'

" His memory is belter than yours. Master
Reginald. He and his brother were two of the
leading warriors in that unfortunate affair
where St. Clair w^s beat by the Ingians, upon
the north fork of the Miami. I was there, too,
and the * Doctor's ' pills did some sarvice — but
not much to signify, neither. Colonel Brandon
did all that a man could dp, but, at l^st, he was
forced back. Well, that Tarhe and his brother,
first in the pursuit, killed two of our poor fel
lows, and were scalping 'em, when the Colonel
called out to 'em, and fired. He killed Tarhe's
brother dead. I see'd it all ; and I took a long
squint with the Doctor at Tarhe, which only-
lamed his arm a bit ; for, you see, Master Regi-
nald, I was a long ways off; and a chap don't
shoot quite so fine when he's a retreatin' double
quick, with a few hundred Redskins yellin' in
his rear. However, that Tarhe has been more
than once down at Marietta^ and round the
neighbours' clearins ; and he knowed you, Mas-
ter Reginald, just as well as a Kentucky hog
knows an acorn."

" r^ow I understand it, so far, Baptiste. But
if the fellow wanted to take my life, why did
he not hide in the laiirel-thicket, and shoot mo
as I passed 1 Why did he make the attempt *
where my death was sure to be revenged V*

*'Now, Master Reginald, you are asking t

THIS; PSAIKIS-BIItS

jwnr igiMiraiil on^r,-«who kaowe Bought bm
ft tttie httotin', and, may be, knows a beaver-
ikia fjjOHi a bufialo-iude,— all the ina and outs
•fa red lagian's crooked mind! May be, he
WiDted to force War-Eag>e into shedding
v^ite-maa'a Mood. I saw that one q€ those
Shawanons was np to his game ; and if a gen-
tnl skrimmj^obad come, they'd have tried to
d0 for me. Or, perhaps, when he found his
kaife so convenient to the back of your neck,
ke eoalda't lose the chance, for the bad spirit
had got hold of him.*'

•J By heavens !" cried Reginald, ** I never can
sofficieotiy admire the quickness, and tbe heroic
coorage of that boy, ^Vingenond ! Did yon
see,. Baptiste, how he drew that great knife
i/mo/y out of his wounded arm ; and how aU
the time Ue smiled upon War-Eagle, as if to
show him that be despised the pain 1"

" He is a brave youth," said the guide. " I
kaow the stock he comes from : if he were a
coward, the grisly bear might breed sheep !'*

*' Pray t^U me something of his pareots, and
if bis story. Is he related to War- Eagle 1"

**He is,** said the guide. "They aie the
cWren of twx> brothers. War- Eagle of the
eldest \ Wingeaiand of the youngest.**

*^ Are these two brothers alive, Baptiste 1**

*^No: both were murdered by the white
man, in time of peace, without provocation.
There was a ^third brotberj who, happenmg to
M absent from the village on a hunt^ escaped.
He has now gone to the far- west, beyond th^^
fSBM river. Both the War*Eagle and the boy
are called his sons ; and the hater, as he told
Qsto-dfSky, lives in his lodge.**

** Then all these ttu'ee brothers were the ohii-
dieo of WiDgenund V*

•^Yes.**

**■ And who was he 1"

**One of the old* Lenape :— first in council
and foremost in the fight ! I remember him
well when I was a boy,** said the guide, warm-
iog with his subject, *< He taught me to fol-
low a trail, and to travel in the woods, with no
other guide than the wind, the stars, and the
bark of the trees ; apd before I W4is as old as
that boy,, his gpandson^ he lent me his rifle to
ihoot the first uacotab as ever I killed.'*

** What was the party, Baptiste !** said Regi-
aald (anKiQus to keep the guide from the sub-
ject of the BacotahsX *< what party was it that
comiQitted the atrocious murder upon the In-
dians in tiine of peace!**

**Why« Master Reginald, though you were
hat a youngster, doa*t yon remember hearing
that twelve or fourteen years ago, a party of
white men, led by Williamson, Harvey, and
soine other rough chaps from the Kentucky
Bide, fell upon a village of friendly Indians on
the banks of Tusoarawas river, and murdered
all they found, man, woman, and child 1 Some
of these poor Redskins had been made Cbris-
turns, sod were called Moravians; and their
village, as was destroyed, was called 'by some
ooUandish name, too long by half for me to
•peak or to remember.* ^They had given over
their own natural life of4moking, hunting, and
fighting, and did nothing but plant, and sow,
and pray ! And, after all, that's the way they
waa served. Master Reginald."

*The viUagd woa c«UM Gnadea-UOtlea—" teatp^'* or
'Mhbu of snM.**

•" HonrMe «id dJWMtftil cTMily P add Ihft

young man : and rather thinking aloud, than
addressing his companioB, he added, " U is no
wonder that the Indiana receive so unwilltiigly
CbristiaB precepts, when they have such exam-
ples of Christian practice. I am not surprised
that Waf-Sagle finds it hard to^ forgive woh in-
juries.'*

**And yet you aie surprised. Master Regi-
aAli»" said the ^ide^ in a deep voice, almost
hoarse from repressed emotion, ^ that / *q not
forgive the Dacotah ? Did he not burn the log
hut where I was bom and raised 1 Did he not
murder those who gave me birth % Did he not
drive me out, a child^ into the woods, to live by
berries, or wild fruits, or what I could fiad or
kill 1 Is not my father*s scalp (not bitff reven-
ged!) now hanging before a Dacotah lodge!
Oh ! let mo come bet within rifle lange of the
Throat- cutter,* and if he comes ofl!* with a whole
sksBi I wiU foigive him !**

Our hero, seeing that farther diseossion wenld
only incresse an excilement which already mas-
tered hia oompanioft's self-control, said to him
kindly, " Well, Baptists, it must be owned that
you have received from these people deep, irre-
parable wrong ! Von are a man, and wouM
not pay thiem in their own base coin, by killing
one of their squaws or children : but if it is ev-
er your fortune to meet them in a fair stand-up
fight, when I am with you, then you shall see
that I can stand by a friend, and sha. e in his
just feelings of resentment.**

*^ I know it— I kaow it, Master Reginald,*'
said the guide, grasping the hand extended to
him ; and having now recovered an equanim-
ity which nothing but the Dacotah subject ever
disturbed, he ad(^, ^,

" If you and I were to take a summer-hunt
towards the monntaias, with that light-limbed
War-Eagle, who has the eyes, and ears, and
spring of a painter,t vi^ might p*rap8 bring in a
handsome load o' skins, and may be, pay ofl!*the
Throat>>cutter8 an old debt or two.**

^ It is mors likely than yon in)a|pine, Bap-
tiste, that we shall make an excursion to the
West, this spring ; for my father told me the
other day — but see, there he is, with Lucy on
his arm, and Aunt Mary, and Wolf by her side !**

As he said this, the young man bounded for-
ward, and in a moment was in the r^vidst of
them, kissing his sister, shaking his father and
Aunt Mary affectionately by the hand, and pat-
ting Wolfs greaa shaggy head.

''Dear Reginald! what has kept you so
long V* said* Lucy, reproachfully ; where can
you have been 1 Why, your clothes ^are all soil-
ed ; and see, papa,*' she added turning deadly
pale; "there is blood upon his hunting-shirt
and upon his cheek !**

<* What a little coward art thou,** said Regi-
nald, ^ to be the daughter of a soldier ! Why,
Lucy, the few drops of Mood upon my clothes
must surely have come from your cheeks, which
are as pale as a magnolia flower ! Harkee Lucy,
I must do something to drive the rosy c .nent
baok to its proper chann^ ; come here, girl :'

* Eveiy Indian tribe has its peculiar marlc, or lign ; amonf
nil tlie nations of the far-west, the Sioux, or Dacotabs*
are tfesif nated by paaing the baud across the throat as if
cutting it.
t A Panther is aq called by the western hunters.

THE PKAIRIE-BIRD;

aaid bending her head aside, he whispered some-
thing in her ear.

Neyer was the effect of magic more rapid,
or more potent ; for ijt' an iastant the obedi-
ept blood rushed to the fair girl's cheek, suffu-
sing, at the same time, her neck and temples
with the same glowing hue ; casting upon her
brother a look at once playful and appealing, she
pinched his ear between her tiny fingers till he
fairly begged pardon, and promised not to do so
again.

As It was now evident that Reginald was
not much hurt, Lucy turned her eyes towards
the hunter, who approached, leading Nekimi,
still snorting, prancing^ and curvetting, at the
full length of his laryette. ** Baptiste,'' said the
Colonel, *' where have you found that wild, un-
tamed animall"

**He belong^," said the hunter, '*to Master
Reginald.*'

The Colonel looked to his son for an explana-
tion, who giving an arm^ to his sister, while the
Colonel escort^ Aunt Mary, turned homeward,
and narrated, as they went, the events described
in this and the foregoing chapter.

CHAPTER VHI.

CoKtaiiumg a Sketch ot Mooahaime. — lUgjnnld inttodvoM
his Sister to the two Delawares. -

The day following that on which the events
related in the preceding- pages oecurred, there
was an assemblage more than usually numer-
ous, gathered in and around the capacious store
of David Muir, in Marietta: immediately in
front of his door was a small party, who, from
their bearing and appearance, might be easily
recognised as leading persons in the little com-
munity. In the midst of them was a roughly-
dressed country lad, whose haggard appearance
indicated wretchedness or fatigue, or both; near
the group stood his horse reeking with sweat,
and showing that the messenger,, for such he
was, had not spared the spurs on. the road.
Many and eager were the qnestions put to him,
and the countenances of his auditors evinced no
ordinary degree of interest in his replies; sever-
al women, and a dozen or two of boys and girls,
made repeated endeavours to penetrate into this
important circle : and having contrived to over-
hear a disjointed word, here and there^ such as
«* Indian," "scalped," "rifle," &c., they slttak
away, one bv one, to spread it abroad through
the village, that a neignbonring settlement had
been attacked by a large body of Indians, armed
with rifles and tomahawks; and that every man,
woman, and child, excepting this messenger, who
had escaped, was scalped!

We will, however, introduce the reader into
the centre of the above-mentionad group, and
detail to him the surbstance of the news which
created so much excitement.

It appears that on the preceding day, two
inothers, named Hervey, were riding homeward,
afler attending a marriage, at a small settlement
twenty miles to the northward of Marietta : they
were not above half a mile in advance of several
other men, also returning from the marriage;
both were armed with rifles, having been shoot-
ing at a target for a wager, when on a sudden, a
single Indian, uttering a loud war-whoop, sprang
fiom a thicket by the road, and at one stroke of

his'war-clnb felled the elder brother to the eait^j(
before the second conld come up to his assist-
ance, the same Indian aimed a sweeping blow
at his head with the hut-end of his rinei th»
younger Hervey warded the blow also with his
rifle, but it fell with such force that both barrels
were broken off from the stocks ; with the rapid*
ity of lightning, the Indian struck him heavily oa
the head, and he fell stunned frpm his horse. A
few minutes afterward, he recovered, and found
some of his friends standing over him^ his un«
fortunate brother lay dead and scalped at his
side ^ his horse and the Indian had disappeared.
Several young men dashed, off immediately in
pursuit, and tracked the hoofs successfully until
the fugitiye^ad entered the hardy and stony bed
of a rivulet falling into the Muskingum ; hence
all farther search proved unsuccessful, and they,
returned dispirited to Uieir companions.

It was long since *so daring an outrage had
been Committed in the Territory; seldom was it.
that the Redskins would attack white men m
open day, unless they were greatly superior in
numbers : but for a single Indian to fall upon two
armed wnites, killing one and leaving the other'
for dead, almost within call of his friends, was
an mstance of audacity to which the 6ldest hunt-
er could scarcely remember a parallel; it was
evident also that the savage had been aware of
a party of whites being at band, otherwise he
would certainly have shot one brother before ha-
attacked the other; but, avoiding the discharge
of his rifle, he had effected his purpose with a
war-club.

Another striking circumstance was the cleai
evidence afforded that the killing of the eldei
Hervey was an act of personal revenge ; because
the younger brother, when knocked from his
horse, had fallen helpless at the Indian's feet;
and the latter, purposely to show that he had
spared his life ana scalp, had struck a knife
through the lappet of his coat into the ground,
with force enough to bury it up to the hafL
Four or five of the best hunters had recommen^
ced the pursuit; and although they once struck
the trail of a man on foot evidently running from.-
them, they were aeain baffled by the river, and
returned to the setttement.

Such was the sum of the messenger's intelli-
gence, which caused, as can easily be imagined,
no little sensation in Marietta and the neigh-
bouring districts.

" I Imow some of the worst o' them Redskin
.devils," said a bulky young man, whose counte»
nance betrayed violent passions, and strong
sjnnptoms of free indulgence in David Mnir's
''fire-water:" "tell me what was this Ingian
likeT how aid Dick Hervey describe him 7",

*'He hadn't over much time to look at him,*
said the messenger, '< afore he was sent to sleep;
but he says he was a very taU, powerfhl chap^
streaked over the face with black."

*' Was he a young un or an old un 1"

"A voung un, and active as a deer, or be
couldn't have knocked those two Herveys oft
their critturs, as a man knocks off a corncob witk
an ash plant."

" 1 wish I had him here," said the young gi
ant, shutting a hand as he^vy and large as .8
shoulder of mutton. " I'd give &im a real Ken<
tucky hug."

None of the bystanders seemed able to form
any guess as to who the perpetrator of this bold
outrage might be; it was resolved, however, t«
take all pcmble measures for his disco wry: a

THB PRAIRIE-BIRD.

96

r

Meeting of the principal inhabitants was conve-
ned, a description of the Indian's person, and of
the marks by which Henrey's horse might be
recognised, was written, and several copies
thereof made, and forwarded to the nearest posts
and ferries ; at the same time a reward of a hun-
dred dollars was ofiered to any person who
shoald discover the offender, and a hundred more
ibr his seizure, dead or alive.

During the discussion of these and other plans
at the meeting, our old acquaintance David
Mair, who felt himself not to be one of the least
important persons present, said, '* I'm thinking,
gentlemen, it woola be as weel to send a mes-
senger out to Colonel Brandon, wi' this intelli-
gence ; he kens the Indians as weel's ony man
in this country-side, mavhap he'll gie us some
gade counsel; and, sirs,'' added David, his grey
eyes twinkling at bis own sagacity, **be sure ye
dinna forget to tak the advice o' yon lang-head-
ed chiel, Battiste; if the Indian deevil's o' this
side the Mississippi, Battiste will fin' him out,
as sure as twa threes mak sax."

This was one of the longest orations which
I>avid had ever delivered in public; and both
his suggestions being approved, carried neTn. Otn,,
ud the meeting dissolved, David returned to his
store with his hands thrust into his coat-tail pock-
ets, and his countenance big with the conscious-
ness of having rendered essential service to the
Territory.

We must now return to Reginald, who, on
the morning of this same day, rose with the sun ;
and feeling hihiself nothing the worse from his
slight wounds, or from his. diving adventure, sal-
lied forth to see how Baptists had provided for
Nekimi's safety and comfort. All means hav-
ing tailed to entice him into a stable, the hunter,
had secured him firmly to an oak, casting down*
ibr him abundance both of food and litter. Re^
ginaid approached him, holding in his hand
some bread; and having given the sharp, shrill
c^ (which, to Lucy's great alarm, he had prac-
tised more than once in the house), he was
agreeably surprised to perceive that the horse
recognised it, and seemed less averse to his ca-
resses ; having fed him, and carefully observed
all the rules laid down by War-Eaf le for gaining
his affections, he returned to the house, and be-
gan to collect the various articles which he pro-
posed to give to his Indian brother ; among these
was a good Kentucky rifie, and a handsome
bnck's-hom knife ibr the chief; he selected also
a light fowlinff-piece, which he had used as a
boy, and which he intended for Wingenund; to
these he added several pounds of powder, and a
due proportion of lead ; he also threw into the
package a few beads and a large cornelian ring,
which had been long the occupant of his dress-
ing-case.

When he had collected all these together he
gave them to Baptiste, desiring him to be ready
to accompany him to the rendezvous after break-
last; and having finished his preparations, he
knocked at the door of Lucy's room, to inquire
whether she was ready to preside at the morning
meal. \

" Come in, Reginald," she said ; << if I am rath-
er late it is your fault; for your adventures of
yesterday have dffven sleep from my pillow:
and even when I did fall asleep, I dreamed ot
nothing but your Indian hero."

"Say you so, faithless onel" replied Regi-
nald; "I shall tell that to—"

^ Hash vow, Reginald," said the blushing girl,

putting her little hand upon his mouth ; " did you
not promise me yesterday that you would not do
so aeain V*

"Perhaps I did," said her- brother? "and I
will keep it if you will come down stairs and
give me a very good cup of coffee."

In the breakfast-room they were joined by the
Colonel and Aunt Mary ; and while they dis-
cuss that most comfortable of family meals, we
will give the reader a slight sketch of the house
in which thev were assembled.

It was built of substantial brick of a dun red
colour, and had originally been a regular and
solid building of moderate dimensions; but the
Colonel had added on one side a win^;, contain-
ing a library and sitting-rooms for himself and
his son, while on the opposite side he had built
additional apartments ior Aunt Mary, and a
small conservatory for Lucy. Thus the build-
ing had gradually assumed a straggling and ir-
regular shape, the back court being occupied by
stables, barns, and extensive farm-offices. The
site of the house was on a gentle elevation, slo-
ping down to a little brook, which wound its bub-
bling way through a deep grove of oak, maple,
and sycamore, and circling round the base of
the hill, fell at the distance of half a mile into
the Muskingum river. The spot still retained
the name of " Mooshanne" (signifying in the
Delaware language Elk Creek), probably owing
to the little streamlet above mentioned having
been a favourite resort of an animal which the
rifles of Reginald and Baptiste had rendered
somewhat scarce in the neighbourhood.

We left the family assembled at the breakfast-
table, where the conversation still tamed upon
the adventures of the preceding day.

" Reginald," said Lucy, " I should like to go
with you to-day, to see your Indian brother, and
that heroic boy."

"I fear," replied her brother, "it is farther
than you could easily walk; and, moreover,
Wingenund will scarcely accompany his chief;
he must be still too weaK from his wound."

"Nay, Reginald; if the distance is the only
difficulty, I can ride Snowdrop; and if Winge-
nund does come, I will reward him for his. brave
defence of my brother, by giving him ^me little
trinket, which he may take back to his sister.
You cannot refuse me now," she added, in a
coaxing tone, the power of which over her broth-
er was all but despotic.

" Of course I cannot, if you obtain Aunt Marv's
and the Colonel's permission,'' said Reginald,
smiling.

Lucy met with no farther opposition. Snow*
drop was ordered to be saddled ; in a few min-
utes the happy girl was equipped, and provided
with a coral necklace for the chief, and a pretty
broach, destined for her brother's preserver.

The party now assembled beiore the door,
consisting of Reginald, Baptiste, and Lucy,
mounted on her favourite grey pony: our hero
slung his rifle across his shoulders ;* the sturdy
woodsYnan, besides carrying his own enormous
axe, walked lightly under the two rifles, and the
other articles to be presented to the chief, and
Wolf played around them his fantastic and un-
wieldy gambols.

Cheerfhl and smiling was the woodland scen-
ery through which they passed; the dewdrops
still glittered in the beams of the morning sun,
and the air was impregnated with the vernal tn"
grance arising from atnousand opening buds ani
blossoms.

120

TH£ PRAIRIE^BIHO*

" Sefi, Lucy/' said her brotbier, as he walked
by her side, while the tact of the stardy hunter
kept him a few paces in the rear, '*see how
Ihose mischievous squirrels hop and chatter
upon the boughs 1 They seem to know that your
presecce is a protection to them."

** I often wonder, Reginald, how you can shoot
8u::h pl^ful and gracefol animals; you who
have taste enough to admire their beauty^ and
who can find sport more worthy of your rifle."

*< It is childish sport, Lucy ; yet they are no
eontemptibie additions to the table; their furs are
useful, and there is some skill in shooting them
— that is, in shooting them properly."

*< If I were a man, I would snoot nothing but
i^ions and tigers, bu^aloes or bears I'^said his sis^
ter.

*^A pretty Amazon, truly 1" said Reginald,
laughing: "yet, methinks, your thoughts are not
always so warlike. Comei Lucy, now that we
are alone (for our good Baptiste is out of ear-
shot), you n^ed not pout or blush if I ask you
whether Ethelston is expected soon to return 1"

" Indeed, I know not, Regiiiald," said his sis-
ter, blushing in spite of his prohibitioiL " His
last letter to the Colonel mentioned something
about privateers, and the rupture with France.
Papa did not appear desirous of communicar
ting much upon the sul^'ect, so I dropped it."

"True," said Reginald; *'^he French will not
soon forget or forgive the loss of their fii^e frig-
ate, the Insurgent, 'which was taken the other
day so gallantly by the Constellation. I doubt
not they will endeavour to cripple our trade in
the West Indies. Edward has got a little crafl
Ihat can ran if she cannot fight."

<< lam sure Edward will never run if it is pos-
sible to fight," said Lacy, a little piqued.

'^ There, agaih, you speak the truth : it is be-
cause his courage is so tempered by his judg-
ment, that he is fit to be entrusted' with other
lives, and property than his own : if it is not pos-
sible to fight, he will have sense and skill enough
to show the Frenchman his heels.— By-ihe-by,
Lucy, wM^h vessel is he now commanding 1"

Again there was a decided blush, and almost
a pout on Lucy's full lip, as she said, " You know«
brother, that the * Adventure,' and me * Pocahun-
tas,' are both in port, and the vessel he is now on
board of is the— "

"Ohl I remember," said Reginald, laughing^
" she was to be called the * Lucy ;'. but JEdward
did not choose to hear that name in every com-
mon sailor's and negroe's mouth ; so he altered it
to the * Pride of Ohio,' which means in his vo-
cabulary the same thing."

« 1 wish," said Lucy, " there was any Mary,
or Charlo&te, or Catherine, or any other name
under the sun, about which I could tease you t
Have a little patience, Mr, Reginald ; my turn
will come: you shall see what mercy I will
show you then !"

Thus did the brother and sister spar and jest
with each other until they reached the spot ap-
pointed for the interview. As they had arrived
rather before the time, they imagined that the
War-Eagle had not yet come; but Baptiste, put
ting his finger 'to his mouih, blew a long shrill
signal-whistle, and in a few minutes the r'aiu
appeared, accompanied by Wingenund. As
they emerged from the forest, and approach<^J,
Reginaji looked at his sister to see the eifect pro-
duced by their appearance; for the chief was
dressed in a manner calculated to display his no-
ble figure and countenance to better ^vantage

than on the pcecediof day. His Iwg bia€4
hair was parted oi^ his forehead, and gathered
into a mass, confined by a narrow fillet made
from the fur of the white weasel, and surmount
ed by an eagle's feather. It seemed that his vow
of war and revenge was for the time cancelled;
for the lines of black paint which had disfigured
his visage were removed, and the commanding
form and features were not marred by any grc^
tesque or fanciful attire* His brawny neck was
bare^ and a portion of his bok), open chest ap-
peared beneath the light hunting shirt, wJtoch
was his only upper vesture. The ponderous
war-club was stik at his girdle, but Ihe scalp had '
disappeared : and his light, free step upon the
grass was like that of a young elk on a prairie.

Th^ dress of Wingenund was unaltered. H^
was still very weak feom the los^ of blood, and
the pain consequent upon hj3 wound; his. arm
rested in a sUng, made from the platted bark ot
el^ ; ajid the air of languor cast over his coun-
tenance by sleeplessness and sufiering, gave ad-
ditional effect to the delicacy of his features, and
the deep dark lustre of his eyes.

"Our new brother is indeed a fine-looking
creature i" said Lucy, as War-Eagk drew near.
"What a haughty step and bearing he haai
Wingenund loo^ra tpo gentle to be an Indian!"

" He is as brave as gentle, Lucy ; look at his
arm T' and, as she did look at the wounded limb,
she remembered that only yesterday it had saved
her brother's \ife.

The greeting between Reginald and the two
Indians was afieclionate and cordial; he then
>presented his sister to them both in turn. The
chiei^ain, placing his hand upon his heart, fixed
upon her that penetrating look with whict he
had before scrutinized her brother; it was not
\he bold stare of vulgarity admiring beauty, but
the child of nature reading afler his own fashion
a page in her book.

" War-Eagle," said Lucy to him, in her >wa
gentle tone of voice, " I know all that passed
yesterday, and you are now my brother I"

As she pronounced his name in English, a
gleam shot from his eye, and a perceptible and
sudden change came over his countenance ;
it seemed produced by some uneripected asso-
ciation; and Lucy was surprised ac the deep
pathos of his voice, as h^ replied*, " The Great
Spirit has made the sun to shin^j u>on n^y white
brother's path ! His heatt u br&ve; his arm 19
strong; and his sister i« liks a flower of the
prairie !— rher voice coiaep upon the car like a
pleasant dream !" Tae'xi last words he spoke
rather to himself than addressing those around
him.

Lucy, was not dis^/leased with the Indian's
complimeni, and was aoout to speak to Winge*
nund. when Reginald said aloud, " Come, let us
withdraw among ihcje thick trees; we have
many things to talk about." His proposal b«»-
ing assented to, the whole party were soon re.
aseeo'.olt d under a branching oak^ screened frooL
tUe juVli'; track by a thicket of rhododendroa.

Vvaild they were effecting this manceuvrVf
An* giiidc tooir an opportunity of interchanging
a few senten'jes with the War-Eagle; the result
jf WAiich W85 apparently satisfactory to tht
honest woodsir.an, for his face instantly reso*
med its usual frapV and careless expression.

"Lucy," said hor brother, "as you havn
thought proper to accompany me here, yea
must play your pr^rt as Clueeh of the Feasc.
I hope my braths«r» yAW value these baubles

TUfl PRAIKIfi-BIitD.

n

nsttt tfom TOW hands than £eobi mine." Thus i lonched by the melancholy expression of hit

instraeted, Xiucy opened the canvass package,
vhich the guide had hitherto carried, and pre-
sentiog the laiis^e rifle to the chief, she said tb
him,

*< War-Eagle, your brother and your white
sister eive you this rifle as a mark of their
friendship; and with it they give you powder
and lead enough to shoot all the deer and bears
in the territory."

The chief placed her hand and her brother's
both upon hi9 heart, saying, "War-Eagle
thanks you. May the Great Spirit love you
and gaard your path I"

He then poised and examined the rifle, which
was a piece of no ordinary beauty and excel-
lence, while BaiHiste whispered to him, in his
own langna^, '^ It is* loaded."

Locy then turned to Wiogenund, an4 present-
mg him with the lighter fowMog'-pi^ce, said to
him, " With this, a sister thanks Wingenund
for a brother's life."

The boy cast his eye$ modestly to the ground,
saying, " Wingenund is too happy* War-Ea-
rie wiU (eU his name to. the braves in council.
The sister oiNeds is. good to him; Wingenund
is read v to die 1"

" Inaeed," said Lncy to the guide, " I fear he
is very faint and ill: aisk the chief how he pass-
ed the night t"

" Wingenund is not ill," said the boy, with a
smile ; " he is very happy."

Meanwhile, Baptiste having conferred with
the chief, replied " Why, Miss Lucy, the
wound was a very bad 'un, and he lost a power
o' blood; once or twice in the night, War-Eagle
thought he might not get over it ; but he is betr
ter now, and though unable to. bear much fa-
tigue, he's a hardy young plant, and will take
as much killing as an eel."

" Come, Baptiste,'^ said Reginald ; " I know
you put something to eat and drink into that
sack with the ammanition: War-Eagle must
ieast with us to-day."

The guide, opening his capaciouif wallet,
drew from it a venison pasty, some bread, and
a couple of bottles of Madeira^ Lucy declined
taking more than a crust of bread, merely tast-
ing the wine to the health of the hunters. Winge-
nund was equally abstemious, and sat a little
apart with his new sister: while Reginald, Bap^
tiste, and the chief made a more substantial
hincheon. The latter being asked, by Reginald,
how he liked the wine, replied, carelessly,
" Good." But it was evident that he drank it
rather from courtesy than because it pleased his
palate.

Reginald now desired the guide to speak to
the War-Eagle in his own tongue, and to gather
fiorn him aJJ the requisite particulars for his
joining the Delawares in tneir summer-hunt
beyond the MississippLa^ He had long been
antious to visit some of those scenes which
Baptiste had so often described ; and his father
having expressed ^, wish that he should go to
St. Louis on some business connected with his
investments in the fur-trade, he thought that $o
fair an opportunity ought not to be lost.

While the guide and the chiefs conversed in a
low and earnest tone of voice, and Reginald
listened with an idle curiosity, imagining now
and then that he could catch their meaning,
Lucy became much interested in her conversa-
tion with Wingenund ; she was surprised at his
intelligence ana proficiency in English, and was

countenance and of his deep lustrous eyes. As
she was speaking, he suddenly and impressively
placed his finger on her arm, then raised it ta
his owA lips, as a sign to her to be silent, thea
creepin|[ two or three yards irom the party, he
threw himself at full length on the giaas with
his ear to the ground. Lucy listened attentive-
ly, but could hear nothing but tha gentle breezf
stirrine the leaves, and the regular sound ot
Snowdrop's teeth as he nibbled the young grass.

The three hunters were still busy with their
arrangements for the summer, when Winge*
nund, resuming his sitting posture, uttered an
almost imperceptible sound, like the hiss of a
small serpent; mstantl^, as if by instinct, the
War-Eagle grasped his rifle, and looked in-
quiringly on the intelligent countenance of the
*x)y.

"Wingenund hears men and horses," wa^
the short reply.

Baptiste strained his practised ears to the ut-
most, as did Reginald, without success. Even
War-Eagle seemed for a moment unable to
catch Ihe sound — ^he then whispered to Regi«
nald, " Wingenund speaks truth, there are men
— not a few."

Several minutes elapsed before our hero and
the guid^ could distinguish the tramp of horses
and the voices of men speaking angrily.

Our hero and his pariv being efi*ectually
screened from view by the dense laurel* thicket,
could listen unobserved to the conversation oi
those who were ^proaching; and the following
expressions, delivered in a loud and authorita-
tive tone, at oqpe attracted and absorbed their
attention: "It is impossible that the fellow
should escape, we have scouts out in every di-
rection. There can be no doubt that the camp
which we have just found in the woods is the
one where he passed the night with other Red-
skins, for the embers are. still warm. Dicken-
son and Brown are gone south towards M:iri-
6ita ; Henderson and his party are tracking the
prairies to the north ; it is impossible he should
long escape ; and young Hervey thinks he should
know him anywhere I"

While the person who appeared to bq the lea4-
er of the unseen party was thus speaking, War-
Eagle whispered a few sentences to Wingenund,
to which the intelligent youth only replied by a
look; the chief then conversed apart, in a low,
earnest voice, with the guide, who ended b|
grasping his band, and saying, in'the Delaware
tongue, " Grande-H&che will do it at the risk of
his life."

The chief appeared satisfied, and rising with
calm dignity, be tightened the belt at his waist,
to which he hui^ his newly-acquired knife anc
ammunition ; and throwing his rifle into the hol-
low of his left arm, he saia to Reginald, " War^
Eagle must leave his brother Netis; Grande-
H4che will tell him all; before two moons have
passed, Netis will come to hunt the bison with,
his brother; and he shall sm.>ke with the braves
of the Lenap^."

" He will,^' replied Reginajd, warm«y pressing
his hand, and at the same time passing the cor-
nelian ring upon one of the fingers of the chieC
'f If the Great Spirit gives him ^fe, he will come
and hunt, and smoke with his Lenap^ brother."

The chief, now turning to Lucy, drew from
his head the eagle feather which wai passed

* In the Western Sutes, th« rhododendron it g^neraUy
e^Dfldthfl laorel

s»

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

Juongh his hair, and which was qaaintly stain-
ed, and ornamented with porcupine quills ; offer-
ing it gracefully to her, ne said, in a voice of
n^usicai gentleness, " War-Eagle wishes happi-
ness to the ' pale flower of Mooshanne ;* noian j
brares have tiied to- pluck this feather from his
head; no Dacotah nor Pawnee has touched it
and lived 1 The sister of Netis may fasten it in
her hair — ^let none but a brave warrior raise his
eyes to it there."

" Thank you^ dear War-Eagle," said Lucy,
kindly, " I promise you it shall never be touched
by an unworthy hand; and do you take this
string of red beads," giving him at the same
time a coral necklace, ^* and wear it for the sake
of your white sister."

The chief received this gift with evident pleas-
ure; and waving his^hand in adieu, whispering
at the same time one parting word to Winge-
nnnd, he strode leisurely away, and was soon
lost in the deep glades of the forest.

CHAPTER IX.

How Eegittald Brandon returned to Mooelianne with his
Sister, accompanied by Wingeniutd; and what befell
them on the Road.

LucT Brandon was not a litUe surprised at
the chief's sudden departure, and with thej[rank-
ness natural to her character, inquired of her
brother whether he could explain its cause ; Re-
ginald appeared either unable or unwilling to do
so ; and an appeal to the guid& produced only
^e following unsatisfactory reply :

" War-Eagle is like the bird after which he*s
tailed— it ain't easy to explain or to follow his
flight."

Wingenund remained silent, but every noW
and then he fixed his bright and speaking eyes
upon Lucy, as if he would divine ner thoughts.
That young lady, though at a loss to account
for her embarrassment, entertained a fear that
all was not right, and proposed to her brother to
return to Mooshanne.

Snowdrop was soon caught, and the little par-
ty moved leisurely homeward, Reginald and the
guide leadings the wav, and Wingenund walking
by the side of Lucy's pony ; after riding a few
minutes, she recovered her spirits, and remem-
bering that there was no foundation for any sur-
mises of evil, she resumed the conversation with
iier youn^ companion, which the chiePs depart-
ure had interrupted. '^Tell me, Wing^und,
who is the ' BlacK Father,' of whom yon speak 1"

"He is very good," said the boy, senously;

*he talks with the Great Spirit; and he tells us

all that the Great Spirit has done ; how He made

the earth, and the water; anc| how He punishes

bad men, and makes good men happy."

"He is a white man, theni" said Lucy.

« He is," replied the lad; "but though he is a
white man. he always speaks truth, and does
good, and drinks no nre- water, and is never an-
gry.'*

What a humiliating reflection is it, thought
Lucy to herself, that in the mind of this young
lavage, the id^a of white men is naturally asso-
eiated with drunkenness and strife ! " Tell me,
Wingenund," she continued, "is the < Black Fa-
ther' old 1"

"Many winters have passed over his head,
and their snow rests upon his hair."

" Does he live with you always 1"
' « He comes and he goeS| like the sanshioe and

the rain ; he is always welcome ; and the Lenap*

love him."

" Can he speak your tongue well V*

" He speaks many tongues, and tries to make
peace between the tribes, but he loves the Le-
nap6, and he teaches * the Prairie-bird' lo talk
with the Great Spirit."

" Does your sister E»peak to the Black Father
in her own tongue V

" Sometimes, and sometimes in the English ;
but often in a strange tongue, written on a great
book. The Black Father reads it, and the Frai-
rie-bird opens her ears, and looks on his face. '
and loves his words; and then she tells them sm
to me. But Winsenund is a child of the Lena-
p<§— he cannot understand these things I" >

"Yon will understand them," said Lucy.
kindly. " if you only have patience ; you know/'
she aaded, smiling, "your sister nnderstands
them, and she is a Lenap^ too t"

"Yes," said the boy; "but nobody is like
Prairie-bird."

" She must, indeed, be a remarkable person,**
said Lucy, humouring her young companion's
fancy; "still, as you have the same father and
mother, and tne same blood, whatever she learns,
you can learn to9."

" I have no father or mother," said Winge-
nund, sadly, and he added, in a mysterious
whisper, drawing near to Lucy, "Prairie-bird
never had a father or mother."

"Never had a father or mother!" repeated
Lucy, as the painful thought occurred to her,
that poor Wingenund was deranged.

" Never," said the boy, in the same tone ; " she
came from t/uere" pointing, as he spoke, to«
Wards the northwest quarter of the heaven.

" How melaneholy is it," said Lucv t* her-
self, " to think that this brave, amiable bov is
so afflicted! that so intelligent and quick a
mind is like a Ivre with a broken string ! Still,"
thought she, "fwiU endeavour to understand
his meaning, and to undeceive him."

" Dear Wingenund, you are mistaken— your
sister had the same father- and mother as your-
self; she may have lealiied much, and may un-
derstand things strange to you, but you might
learn tlxem too."

" Wingenund's father and mother are dead,"
said the boy, in a voice of deep and suppressed
emotion; "he will not tell you how they died,
for it mak^s his heart throb and his ey^s burn ;
but you are good to him, and shall not see his
anger. Prairie-bird never had a father; the
Great Spirit gave her to the Lenap^."

While Luc^ was musing how she should en-
deavour to dispel this strange delusion which
seemed to have taken such firm hold of her
youne companion's mind, Reginald and Bap-
tiste halted, and the latter said, " You see that
party approaching ; they may put some trouble-
some questions, leaver me to answer them.
Winsenund, yoik know what I mean 1"

" Wingenund does not understand English,"
said the boy, a slight smile of irony lurking in
the corner of his mouth.

The approaching party consisted of eight or
ten men, all armeS with rifles, excepting two,
who were mounted, and who carriea cutlasses
and large horse-pistols; among the pedestrians
towered the gigantic form of young JViike Smith,
who has already been presented to the reader
before the store of David Muir, in Marietta;
and among the horsemen was the younger Her*
yev, leading his fi^ends to scour the whole couiw

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

try in search of (he slayer of his brother; they
were all in a high state of excitement; and de-
spite the cool and amnoved demeanour of the
guide, he was not without apprehension that
they might desire to wreak their vengeance on
Wmgenond.

"Ha! Baptiste," said Herrey, grasping the
guide's hand;' "you are the very man we are
!a search of; we have already been to the colo-
neVs, and he told us we should find you wkh
his son, and with Mis Brandon, in this quarter.
We want your assistance, man, and that speed-
ily, too."

"How can I serve youT' said the guide;
<<what is the matter \ you seem bent on a hunt''

"A hunti" exclaimed Hervcy, "yes, a hunt
of a Redskin devil ! Harkee, Baptiste 1" and
stooping from his horse, he repeated to the guide
in a low yoice, but clear enough to be heard by
all present, the circumstances attending his
brother's death.

" A daring act, indeed," said the guide, mu-
smg; *'bat could not you follow the trail while
it was fresh yesterday V

" We followed it to a creek leading to the^
Muskingum, and there we lost it."

'^ Can you describe the appearance of the In-
dian V* inquired the guide.

"A tall, handsome fellow, as straight as a
poplar, and with a leap Uke a painter, so he
seemed ; bat d — ^n him, hegave me such a knock
on the head, that my eyes 'swam for five min-
utes."

A cold shudder ran through Lucy's limbs as,
comparing this slight sketch of Wai'-Eagle with
his sudden departure and the guide's caution to
Wingenund, she recognised in the chief the ob-
ject of their search : glancing her eye timidly at
Wingenund, she could read on his countenance
no trace of uneasiness; he was playing with
Snowdrop's mane ; his gun resting on the ground,
and he himself apparently unconscious of what
waspassing.

Aner a minute's reflection, the guide contin-
ued : " You say that the Indian's rifle was bro-
ken in half; did you notice anything about it 7"

"Nothing: it was a strong coarse piece; we
have brought the stock with us; here it is," he
adde^, calling up one of his party to whom it
had been entrusted.

The guide took it in his hand, and^at the first
glance detected thtf imitation of a feather, rough-
ly but distinctly cut with a knife ; his own sus-
picions were at once confirmed, although his
countenance betrayed no change of expression;
but Mike Smith, who had been looking over his
shoulder, had also observed the marks of the
feather, and noticed it immediately aloud, ad-
ding, " Come, Baptiste, you know cdl the Ingian
marics between Alleghany and the Missouri;
what Redskin has this belonged to 1"

"Mike," said the guide coolly, "a man's
tongue must shoot far and true to hit such a
mark as that."

"And yet, Baptiste, if I'd been as long at the
guiding and trapping as yon, I think I'd a' Know'd
something about it."

"Ay, that's the way of it," replied Baptiste;
" vou young 'uns always think you can shave
a hog with a hom.spoon I I 'spose, Master Mike,
you can tell a buzzard firom a mocking-bird ; but
if I was to show you a feather,'and ask you what
buzzard it belonged to, the answer aignt not he
•asy to find."

;!' You're an old fool/' growled Mike angrily;

and he added as his eye rested snddenly upon
Wingenund, "what cub is that standing by
Miss's white ponyl we'll see if he knows this
mark. Come here, you devil's brat."

Not a muscle in the bojr's face betrayed his
consciousness that- he was addressed.

"Come here, you young Redskin 1" shouted
Mike yet more angrily, " or I'll sharpen your
movements with the point of my knife."

Reginald's fiery temper was ill calculated te
brook (he young backwoods-man's coarse and
violent language ; placing himself directly be-
tween him and Wingenund, he said to the for-
mer in a stem and determined tone, "Master
Smith, yon fofget yourself; that boy is one of
my company, and is not to be exposed either to
insult or injury."

" Here's a pretty coil about a young Redskin,"
said Mike, tiying to conceal his anger under a
forced laugh ; " how do we know that he ain't a
brother or a son of the Ingian we're in search oi:
s' blood, if we could find out that he was, we'a
tar him. and bum him orer a slow fire 1"

" I tell you again," said Reginald, *' that he is
guilty of no crime: that he saved my life yester-
day at the risk of his own, and that while I live
neither you nor any of your party shall touch a
hair of his head."

Baptiste fearing the result of more angry words,
and moved by an appealing look from Miss
Brandon, now interposed, and laying his hand
on Smith's shoulder, said, " Come, Master Mike,
there is no use in threatening the young Red-
skin when yoir see that he does not understand
a word that you say ; tell me what you wish to
inquire of him, and I will ask him in his own
tongue."

" His tongue be d— d," said Mike ; " PU wa-
ger a hat against a gallon of David Muir's heF%
Uiat the brat knows English as well as you or I,
although he seems to have nothiiSe to do but to
count the tassels on the edge of nis shirt. I'll
show you without hurting him," he added ii a
lower tone, " that I'm not far wrong."

" You swear not to injure him t" said Reginald,
who overheard what passed.

" I do," said Mike ; " I only want to show you
that he can't make a fool of Mike Smith."
Here he called up one of the men from the
rear; and having whispered something in his
ear, be said in a loud and distinct tone of voice,
"Jack, we have found out that this Indian cub
belongs to the party, one of whom murdered poor
Hervey. Lifb for life is the law of the back-
woods; do you step a little on one side; I wiP
count four, and when I come to the four, split
me the young rascal's head, either with a bullet
or with your axe."

"For Heaven's sake, as you are men," ex-
claimed Lucy in an agony, "spare him!"

"Peace, Miss Br*mdon," said Mike; "your
brother will explain to you that it mUst be so."

The guide would fain have whispered a word
to the boy, but he was too closely watched by
Smith, and he was obliged to trast to Winge-
nund's nerves and intelli&fence.

"Are you ready. Jack*" said Mike audibly.

" Yes !" and he counted slowly, pausing be-
tween each number: one — iwo-khreel At the
pronunciation of this last word Wingenund,
whose countenance had not betrayed by the
movement of a muscle, or by the expression of a
single feature, the slightest interest in what was
passing, amosed himself by patting the great
rough oead which Wolf rabbed against hia

90

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

hwos^ as if totally tmcoasGious that the deadly
weapon was raised, and that the next worn
from the hooter's lips was to be his death war-
rant

«D— n it, yon are right alter ail, Baptkte,"
said Mike Smith; '<the brat certainly does not
nndeistand ns, or he'd have pricked bis ears
when I came to number three ; so, do yon ask
him in his own lingo if he knows that mark on
the rifle-bntt, and can tell as to what Redskin
tribe it belongs 1" ^ ■

The guide now addressed a few words to
Wingenund in the Delaware tongue, while Re-
ginald and Lucy interchanged a glance of won-
der and admiration at the boy's sagacity aod
courage.

" He tells me that he has seen this mark
before," said the guide.

*«Has heV replied Mike; ''ask him whedier
It is thai of a Shawnee, or a Wyandoi ; of an
Iroquois or of a Delaware 1"

After again conferring with Wingenund, the
guide muttered to himself, *' This youngster Won't
tcU a lie to keep a bullet from his brain or a hal-
ter from his neck *, I must act for him^" He ad-
ded in a louder tone, '' Mike, a word with you:
it is not unlikely thatlhe Ingian you're in search
of is the same who^2Lve the boy that wound,
and who tried to kill Master Reginald yesterday ;
if it is so, he wants no more punishing; he hias
his allowance already." , " n

« How so 1" said Mike.

" He is dead, man— killed on the spot Do
you and Hervey meet me here to-morrow an
nour before noon ; I will take you to the place
where the body is buried, and yod shall judge
for yourselves whether it is that of the man you
aeek."

''It's a bargain," said Mike, "we'll come to
the time; now. lads, forward to Henrey's Clear-
ing. Let's' have a merry supper to-night; and
to-morrow, if the ^^uide shows ns the earcase of
this rascal, whv we can't hart that much; but
we'll pay off a lone score one day or other with
some of'^the Redskms. Sorry to have kept you
waitin'. Miss, and hope we haven't scared yoti^"
said the rough fellow, making, as he drew off
his party, an awkward attempt at a parting bow
to Lucy.

" That was a clever turn of Baptiste's." said
Reginald in a low voice to his sister; "he has
made them believe that the cowardly knave who
tried to stab me was the perpetrator of the daring
outrage which they seek to avenge I"

"And was it really War-Eagiel" said Lucy,
with a slight shudder. " He wha seem? so no-
ble and so gentle — ^was it he who did iti"

" I believe so," said Reginald.

' But is it not wrong in us to be f^iendis with
him, and to aid his escape 1"

** Indeed," replied her brother, " it admits of
doubt ; let as ask the guide, he will speak now
without reserve." And accordingly Reginald
repeated to Baptiste the question and his sister's
scruples.

" Why you see, Miss," said the wary hunter,
** there is no proof that War-Kagle did H, though
I confess it was too bold a deed to have been
done by that dog of a Wyandot ; but I will teH
foil. Miss," he added, with iDcreasing energy
and vehemence, " if the War-Eagle did it, you
wiL yourself, when vou know aU, confess that
he did it nohly, and that he deserves no ponish-
ment from man. That elder Hervey was one of
te Uood-tfutsty band Iff whom the harmless

Christian Indians* were murdered ; and h is b$*
Heved that it was bjr his own hand that Winge-
nund's father fell; if War-Eagle revenged this
cruel murder, and yet spared the liib of the
younger brother when* lying helpless at his feet,
who shall dare to blame him, or move a foot la
his pursuit 1"

" He speaks the truth, Lucy," said her bhrtiicr ;
" according to the rules by which retaliation is
practiced by mankind, War-Eagle would hav&^
been justified in punishing with death such an
act of unprovoked atrocity ; but it is a danger-
ous subject 10 discuss : you had better foi^et aU
you have heard about it; and in ease of farther
mquiries being made in your presence, imitate
the happy unconsciousness lately df9|dayed by
Wingenund."

"Qome here, my dear young brother," he
added in a kindlv tone, " and tell ns-^did yoa
really think that hoi-headed chap was going to
shoot you when he counted hnmoer three 1''

" No I" said the boy, with a scornful smile.

"And why noti for he''s a violent and angry
man."

" He dared not," was the reply*

"How so r

" He is a fool I" said the boy, in the same
scornful tone; "a fool scarcely fit to frighten
the fawn ef an antelope t If he had touched me,
or attempted to shoot qie, Netis and Gh'ande-
H&che would have killed him immediately.''

" You are right, my young brave," said Regi-
nald, " he dared not hurt you. See, dear Lucy,*
he added apart to his sister, " what a ripe jndg-|
ment, what a heroic spirit, what nerves of iroa.
are found in the slender frame of this woundea
boy, exhausted by fatigue and suffering !"

"We will at least give him a hearty supper,*
said Lucy, "and an affectionate welcome to our
home."

Wingenund thanked her with his dark eves,
and the little party proceeded leisurely, witnom
incident or interruption, to Mooshanne. ^

CHAPTER X.

In whieh the IteadJetr Ib uneereihoniousi j traasparted to
another Stement in Company with fithelston ; the latter
if left in a disagreeable nedicament.

It is time that we should now turn our atten-
tion to Ethelston, who is much too important a
personage in our narrative to be so long neglect-
ed, and respecting whose safety Lucy began to
feel.the jealous anxiety of lote j for " The JPride
of Ohio" had been long expected in Marietta,
and several French frigates and corvettes were
reported to be cruising among tho West India
Islands, actively engaged in revenging upon
American commerce the loss which they had
sustained in the Insurgente. Wc shall soon see
that Lucy's alarm was not alto^rctber ground-
less, and that her lover's prolonged 8Us<;nce was
ndt without sufficient cause. Abouc a morrth
Ifreoeding the occurrences detailed m th*) lass
chapter, Ethelston, having landed his me/chan-
diae in safeC^ at Port Royal, arid having takea
on board a small cargo of sugar and eoff^, pro
pared tb return to New Orleans ; he had heaW*
of the'Prench men-of-war cruising in tiie neighv
boudiibod, and prudently resolved to riflk as littl»

■*-*-

* Jjlndinr urala to tke
wsverst"iiSABhatom.»

of the MoMTJan tMa

r—

THE PRAIRIB-BIRIX

II

is {MMsfljte on this trip ; he took, therefore, secu-
rities for a great portion of the amount due to
him, which he left in the charge of the ▼eesel's
oonsigneesi and 'conveyed on board only s snffi-
eieot cargo to put The Pride of Ohio in iilerihot
nlliitg trim, and to give her a fair chance of es-
tx^ in esse she were chased by an enemy ; his
jttle brig was well rigged and manned, and he
felt confident that few, if any, of the French
craisers would match her for speed. His mate
sr sailiDff-master was Gregson^ a hardy, weather-
beaten Md sailor, who had served on board tverj
kud <tf craft, ftom. a man-of-war to a fishing-
oobble, and knew every headland, reef, and cor-
rent in that dangerous sea, as well as a Liver-
libel irilot knows th^ banks and shoals in the
month of the Mersey. The Ihide of Ohio
moonied three guns : two eighteen pound ear-
roBsdes, and one long nine pounder ; ten stent
fellowB and a blac^ cmyk formed her comple-
ment ; the last- mentioned person deserves spe-
cial notice, as he was a character strangely
formed by the alternations of fortune which he
had seen. A native of the interior of western
Afriea, he had, in early life, been chosen, on ac-
count of his extraordinary strength and courage,
achief of the Lucnmi tribe, to which he belong-
ed; bat having been unfortunately made a pris-
oner, he was taken down to the coast and sold
to a slaver ; thence he had been conveyed to
some of the Spanish islands, and afterwards to
Tirgtnia, where he had come into the possession
of Colonel Brandon, who, finding him possess-
ed of many g6od qualities, and of a sagacity very
rare among his countrymen, hs^d ofifered him his
liberty when he moved to Ohio ; but Cupid (for
80 was the negro called) had grown so much
attached to his master, that he begged to be al- 1

lowed to remain in his service, and from one
employment te another, had now become coolc
and steward on board The Pride of Ohio. In
frame he was Herculean ; and though he rarely
exerted his strength, he had shown on various
oecasions that it was nearly, if not quite, equal
to that of any other two men in the vessel. He
spoke bnt little, and was sullen and reserved in
lus manners ; but as he never disobeyed orders,
and never was guilty of aggression or violence,
Cipid was, upon the whole, a favourite with the
srew.

To Ethelston be was invaluable ; for he Was
always at his post, was scrupulously honest with
respect to money or stores placed under his
charge, and on more than one occasion his
lArewdness and readiness had surprised his
yonng commander. The captain (for so was
Ethelston called on board) always treated Cupid
kladly, and never allowed him to be made the
subject of those jeers and insults to which free
negroes in the States are usually exposed ; on
this accooiit the cook, who never forgot that he
Aoi been a warrior, entertained towards him
the wannest feelings of attachment and grati-
tude.

How or where he had obtained the name be
bore, none seemed to know ; and Ethelston re-
membered having heard that when first he came
into Colonel Brandon's possession, and was
asked his name, he had sullenly replied, '*The
name, I once |iad is at home : a slave has neither
name nor home !" A terrible gash across his

the war when he was oaptnred) had disfigured
a countenance that had been originally eipres*-
sive of haughtiness and determination, and had,
perhaps, led the slave-dealer to bMtow upon
'him in irony the name by which he was now
called. •

The Pride of Ohio had made good two days
of her homeward passage, when, in endeavour
ing to round a point on the southern coast o!
Cuba, Ethelston descried a ship some miles to
windward, and ahead, which a careful examina-
tion through his glass convinced him was a
French frigate. His mate being below at the
time, he sent for hun on deck, anxious to see
whether the experienced sailor^s observation
would confirm his opinion. As soon as he ap-
peared, handhig him the i^ass, he said, *' Oreg-
son, see what you mal^e of that fellow on our
larboard bow."

<<Make of her!" said the mate; *«tbe devil
take him that made her, and him that brought
her athwart us, say I, captain ! She^s a French-
man ; and though we can't well see her hull yet,
I doubt It wonH be long before we se^ her row
of teeth."

" I thought so myself," said Ethebton. *< We
must hold our course steady ; and if we can
round the point, we msy then bear away, and
show her a pair of heels. Turn the hands up,
Gregson ; trim the sails, and stand by for a run.
Put Harrison at the helm ; he can keep her a
point nearer than that youngster."

"Ay, ay, sir!" was the reply; and having

executed the order, he letumed to Eth^ton,

who was still sweeping the southern horizon

with his glass, and examhiing the strange ship,

I whose hull was now distinctly visible.

The young man's countenance wore a grave

expression, as, returning the glass to his mate,
he said, "Gregson, it is, as we supposed, a
French frigate. We may, perhaps, creep along .
under the shore without his noticing our small
craft."

The old seaman riveted the glass upon the
stranger, as if he wished to count every saU and
plank. During the examination, he grunted two
or three inarticulate ejaculations, in unison with
which his hard features underwent various con-
tortions ; and his young commander waited with
no little impatience for what he called his " over-
hauling."

" She's neither more nor Itts than that infernal
^Epervler,' commanded by ii'Estrange. She's
one of the fastest sailers in their navy ; and as
for our creeping past her without being seen,
he's the wrong sort o* man for that fun : herring
or whale, all's fish for his net !"

" I have often heard of him," said Ethelston
" they say he's a "fine feDow,"

•* That he is, to give the devil his due, as jolly
en old dog as ever lived, and much too good a
seaman for a Mounscer. Look'ee there, cap-
tain," added he, after another squint through the
glass ; " he's altering bis course already — two
or three points free, and the reefs shaken out o*
the tops'te. We shall hear from him soon." \

** Can we give him the slip by bearing up for
the eastern passage 1-^We shoiAd then show
him our tail ; and a stCm chase is a long one.'*

" We might try if you wish it, captain ; but
it blows fresh, and itie won't be very fond of

'orehead and left cheek (received, probably, in I this lee shore. I think, if yon aHow me to ad

33

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

fHse^ we'd better hug it ; take the chance of a
long shot in rounding tliat headland, and then
ran for the inner channel behind the Isle of
Pines. HeMl not be after following us there ;
or, if he does, the frigate's keel w^U chance to
scrape acquaintance with a reef.*'

" You ar6 right, Gregson," said Cthelston.
**The pride may fetch that point on this tack.
Keep a close luff, Harrison."

** Luff It |9, sir," was the reply, as Ethelston
went below to consult his chart, and to prepare
himself for entering the intricate channel be-
tween the Isla de Finos and the main island.

Ther* gallant little brig well sustained her high
character as a sailer, and dashed her b^^Ws fear^
lessly through the foaming wayes, under a press
of canvass such as few vessels of her tonnage
could have borne^ The breeze was freshening,
and the frigate now shaped her course with the
evident intention of cutting off the chase from
rounding the headland before mentioned.

The men on board the brig weriei now clue-
tered forward, anxiously debating the probable
issue ; while Cucip stearned away in his ca-
boose, preparing the dinner as quietly as if there
had been no frigate to windward, nor a rock-
bound shore to leeward ; but though he i^eemed
thus busied in his usual avocations, he cast ev>-
ery now and then his dark eye upon the Eper-
vier; and few on. board could estimate better
than himself the danger of their situation.

Ethelston having finished a careful examina-
, tion of his chart, now came on deck, and a sin-
gle glance sufficed to shew him that he could
not round th^ point a-head without coming
within range of the frigate's guns: but the brig
had kept her offing, and he had little doubt of
her making good her escape, unless she were
crippled by a shot from the enemy.

Tlie Epervier now hoisted her colours for the
brig to heave-to ; and that being disregarded,
she fired a shot which fell short of her bows.
Finding that no notice was taken of this, L'Es-
trange ordered his first lieutenant to fire at the
saucy brig in good earnest, to bring her to her
senses? Fortunately for the latter, there was
a short, angry sea running, and the distance be-
ing considerable, the first shot did not take ef-
fect. Several of the hands on board the brig
had served in men-of-war ; these were now
oracles among thei^ messmates, and they look^
ed with some anxiety at their young captain,
curious to see bcRr he would behave under fire,
for they believed he had never smelt powder :
and although strict and firm in his command,
tit was usually so gentle and quiet in hie man-
ner, that they considerea him rather a studious
than a fighting character. Their curiosity was
not, however, much gratif^H. ,• for Ethelston.
withouc ^ippearing lo notice the frigate, kept his
eye steady fixed on the cape ahead ; and after a
brief silence, he said, ** Gregson there's a strong
current which sets in shore here, ' the Pride'
cannot weather that point on this tack."

" You are right, sir," said the mate ; L'Es-
trange has got his bristles up, he is nearing us
every minute, and if we carry on this course^
in another half hour, both will go ashore.'*

** Ha !" exclaimed the young captain, the co-
lour rising in his cheek, as a sudden thought
flashed across him. ** If we could ensure that

oth would go to. pieces among those breakers,

it would be a glodous dc^th foi^-the little brig t0
die !"

He spoke these words in an under tone, and
rather musing to .himself than addressing bis
officer. The latter, however* overheard themt
and looked at him with an astonishment v^hlcb
he 6ould not repress ; for he also knew as little
as the crew, of the determined courage that re*
pos^ under the calm and quiet demeanour of
his young commander. Again a wreath ef
smoke issued from the bows of the frigate, and
a round shot passed through the rigging of ih«
chase, doing fortunately no material damage,
but proving that they were now within easy
range.

/^ I fear it wm not do, si|r," said the mate m^
reply to Ethelston's kist iQrords ; ^*she can pei>-
er away at us, and ycit make her offing good."

** Then there remains but one chaiiee for us,'*
said the captain; ** answer herNsigna), show
your colours, 'bout fibip, and ^tand for the frig-
ate.'^

Tho mate was, if possible, mor6 surprised
at this order than he had been before at the pro^
posal to try and cast both Vessels ashore ; but
t>e was too good a aeaman to hesitate or to ask
any questions ; and in a few minutes the gal-
lant little brig had answered the signal, Hud
was standing out towards the ft'igaie on the
starboard tack.

We will now transport the reader for a few
minutes on board Epervier, and make him ae-
quainted with the ca[^taio, into whose clutches
the poor little brig seemed destined to fall.
* L'Estrange was ^ fine-looking, middle-aged
man, who bad spent the greater part of his lifis
at sea, and had married, when very young, a
Spanish Creole, whose beauty was her only
dower; he had several children by this marriage
the eldest of whom was now a lieutenant on
board his ship; the remainder of the family re-
sided at Point 4 Pltre, in Guadaloupe, for the
captain was in truth rather of the * ancien re-
gime ;' he loved his country, but he bated th0
Diredtory and ether fruits of the French Revo-
lution ; so that he never went to Europe, and
would have been but rarely employed had he
not been known to be one of the most skilful
and experienced officers in the French navy.
Such was the man who now stood on the frig-
ate's quarter-deck, and after examining " The
Pride" again tl;irough his glass, turned to his
firsyiieutenant and desired him to cease firing.
** Tnat obstinate trader," he added, <* seemed
very anxious to escape, and thought but little
of the risk she ran of going ashore,, or of being
riddled by our shot !" = -

" She's one of those saucy Americans," said
the 7ieutenar.t, ** that think nothing afloat can
match 'em ; however she's made a mistake this
time, and I hope, sir, when she's overhauled,
she*U prove worth the trouble she's given !"

The frigate, by this time, finding herself too
close in on a lee shore, hauled to the wind, and
disliking the broken and rugged appearance of
the coast, determined not to lie-to for the brig
until she had made sufficient offing. This was
precisely the calculation that Ethelston had
made ; and he now paced his deck with a calm
and satisfied countenance, while his mea,
grouped on the forecastle, were quite at a loss
to discover his intentions ; the mate, however

THB PRAIRIE-BIRD.

31

was clearer sighted, and could not withhold his
admiration from the decision and boldness of a
manosuvre, the success of which must soon be
tested.

The captain of the frigate went below to din-
ner, having given orders to the lieutenant to
stand out on the same tack for another half hour,
then to lie-to until the brig should come along-
side.

Meantime, Ethelston, who had kept his eye
fixed upon the head-land so often mentioned,
muttering to himself, ** she will fetch it now,"
detiired the man at the helm» to yaw the brig
about, to throw her up now and then in the
wind, so as to fall astern of the frigate as much
as possible, yet not apparently varying the
course. Having done so as long as he judged
it practicable without awakening the enemy's
sospicion, he saw, to his inexpressible delight,
the frigate shorten sail to enable him to come
up; instantly selling this advantage, he order-
ed his mate to put the brig about, and run for
the Isle of Pines. It may well be imagined that
this bold manoeuvre was not many moments un-
perceived on board the frigate ; and L'£strange*s
astonishment was great, when from the noise
overhead, and from the heeling of the ship, he
found that her course was altered. Springing
CD deck, he saw that he had been outwitted by
the saucy brig, which was crowding all sail,
and seemed not unlikely to effect her escape.
The old captain chafed, and stormed, and swore
that the obstinate little trader should pay dear-
ly for her insolence.

The Epervier was a fast sailer, and as she
aow dashed the spray from her bows under a
cress of canvass, it was soon evident that the
nig could not yet round the point without com-
og within range of her guns.

Etbelston's mind was now made up; and
fiiding his men cheerful and inspirited by the
luccess of his manceuvre, he yet hoped to bring
his vessel into the intricate channel behind the
island, where, the frigate would not venture to
follow ; it was not long before she again saluted
him, and one of the shot passing through the
brig's bulwarks close to him, shivered the bin-
nacle into a hundred pieces. Observing symp-
toms of uneasiness in the man at the helm, and
that he swerved from the course, Ethelston

give him a stern reproof, and again desired
arrisoH to come to the helm. The frigate,
which still held the weather-gage, seemed now
resolved to cut off the brig from the headland,
and to sink her if she attempted to weather it.
Ethelston saw his full danger, and was prepared
to meet it ; had he commanded a vessel of war,
however small, he would not have shrunk from
the responsibility he was about to incur ; but,
remembering that his little brig was but a trader,
and that the crew ought not to be exposed with-
out their own consent to danger so imminent
as that before them, he desired Gregson to call
them afl, when he addressed them as follows :

"My lads, — ^you see the scrape we are in ; if
we can round that point we may yet escape but
lo do so, we must run within a few hundred
yards of the frigate's broadside. What say you,
iny lads, shall we strike, or stand the eliance \
— ^ Trench prison, or hurrah for the Balise V*

'* Hun ah for the Balise," shouted the men,
ttiniated by their you^g conunander's words
C

and by his fearless bearing ; «o the little b^
held on her way.

A few minutes proved that he had neither
magnified nor underrated the danger ; his chart
gave him deep water round the headland ; and
he now ordered Harrison to keep her away, and
let her run close in shore, thereby increasing her
speed, and the distance from the enemy.

The surprise and wrath of L'Estrange, at the
impudent daring of a craft which he now per* '
ceived to be really nothing but an insignificant
trader, are not to be described. He bore up
aAer her, and having desired the men to stand
to their guns, generously determined to give the
saucy chase one more chance, but finding his
repeated signal for her to heave-to, disregarded,
he reluctantly gave the order to fire. Fortunate-
ly for *' The Pride," the sea was running bight
and naval gunnery had not then reached the
perfection which it has since attained; and
though her rigging was cut up from stem to
stern, and her fore-topmast was shot away, and
though she received several shot in her hull, she
still answered her helm, and gallantly rounding
the point, ran in shore, and was in a few min-
utes among shoals which, to her light draught,
were not dangerous, but where it would have
been madness in the frigate to follow.

CHAPTER XI.

Ethelston*! farther Adventures at sea, and how he bo
cauie Captor and CupUve in a very short space of time

It seemed almost miraculous that not a maa
on the " Pride of the Ohio" was killed by the
frigate's broadside, nor was one wounded, ex
cepting Ethelston, who received a slight hckrt in
the left arm from a splinter ; but he paid no at-
tention to it, and calmly gave all the requisite
orders for repairing the daini^ged spars and rig
ging.

As soon as all was made snug, he let the men
go below to dinner, and leaning over the shiver-
ed bulwarks of bis little craft, seemed busily em«
ployed in counting the shot that had struck her ;
hut his eyes were for a time fixed upon the wa-
ter, through which she was cutting her easy
way, and his thoughts were afar off, as he whis-
pered almost audibly to himself, **Dear, dear
Lucy — your namesake is woupded and disfig-
ured, but she is not disgraced. Thank Heaven,
no Frenchman's foot has yet trodden her deck,
and—"

Here he was interrupted by Gregson, who
having been carefully observing the frigate
through his glass, came up to him, and said,
" Beg pardon, sir, but she is getting ready her
boats, and the breeze is failing fast ; in another
hour we shall have scarce a cat's paw.

Ethelston started from his short reverie, and
immediately convinced himself that the mate
spoke the truth : " You are right," said he,
•♦ but we have a good hour to spare, for the frig-
ate is nearly becalmed. Let the men have their
dinner quietly, say nothing to them about ,tte
matter, and give 'em an extra glass of grog ; but
no drnnkcnness, .Oregson ; they may wautthe
full use of their heads and hands to- night ; send
Cupid to my cabin, and tell him to bring me a
slice of cold rae^t and, a glass, pf Madeira "

H

THE PRAIRIB-BIRD.

So saying, he went below ; the mate looked
after him, and turning his quid three or four
times in his cheek, he muttered, " Damme if he
makes any more count of the frigate's guns or
boats than a bear does of a bee- hive ! They
spoilt as good a commodore as ever stepped a
deck when they made a trading-skipper of him."
Having vented this characteristic encomium on
his young commander, the old seaman went for-
w.ird to execute his orders.

Meanwhile jfithelston, consulting his chart,
found that the reefs and shoals as laid down,
rendered the navigation of the coast extremely
dangerous even for the light draught of his brig ;
having only allowed himself a few minutes for
refreshment, he again went on deck, and ob-
serving the frigate still becalmed, he ordered the
mate to shorten sail, take soundings, and to de-
sire the carpenter to make a report of the leak-
age, or any other serious injury sustained by the
frigate's shot.

During this time L'Estrange was not idle on
board the ♦* Epervier." Nettled at the success-
ful trick played upon him, he resolved as the
breeze gradually died away to capture the chase
with his boats ; for this duty the launch and the
pinnace were assigned : the former had a car-
ronade and twenty-five hands, and was com-
manded by his son ; the latter had a swivel, and
thirteen hands, commanded by a junior lieuten-
ant. The object of L' Estrange being to prevent
an unnecessary effusion of blood, by sending a
force strong enough to render resistance hope-
less on the part of, what he called, a dirty little
sugar-boat. The crew of The Pride of Ohio,
elated by the success of their Captain's man-
oeuvre, and exhilarated by the extra grog served
oat, were in high good humour, and laughing
©ver the events of the morning with reckless
merriment, when they received an order from
Ethelston to come aft. On their obeying the
summons, he again addressed them as follows :

"My lads, you have thus far done your duty
like men ; but our work is not yet over. The
Epervier is determined to sink or capture our
little craft ; she is now getting out her boats for
that service ; if we resist, we shall have warm
work of it ; if we strike without a fight, we may
rot in a French dungeon. Again I ask you, my
lads, will you stick by The Pride, and hurrah
for home, or a sailor's gravel"

A hearty and simultaneous cheer from the
crew was the only reply.

" I knew it, my lads," continued Ethelston,
bis countenance, usually so calm, now glowing
with enthusiasm, *' I knew that you would not
desert her while she could float ! It is now my
doty to tell you that she has received two awk-
ward shots just between wind and water line,
and that she leaks apace. We must stop them
as well as we may ; but be prepared for the
boats of the Epervier ; — they shall at least buy
us a dear bargain !"

Ethelston now called the mate, and gave him
full instructions for the plan of defence from the
expected attack. The long gun and the carron-
ades were got ready and loaded, the former with
round shot, the latter with grape ; small arms
and cutlasses were served out to the men, and
the deck clcart-d of everything that might im-
pede them in the a|»proaching struggle. Mean-
time Ethelston ordered to be hoisted a new en-

sign, given to the biig by Lucy, and said to be
partly worked by her own fair fingers. As soon
as it was run up, he sent aloft a boy, with ordeis
to nail it to the mast-head, which was done
amid the repeated cheers of the crew. They
were not long kept in suspense ; the breeze had
died away : the flapping sails and creaking
yards gave the usual sullen indications of a
calm, when the boats from the Epervier advan-
ced at a steady and measured stroke towards
the brig. Ethelston gave the long gun to the
charge of Gregson, reserving to himself that of
the carronades ; he issued also special orders
not to fire, under any circumstances, until he
gave the word, or in case he fell, until they re-
ceived the order from Gregson, who wo'rld suc-
ceed him in the command.

During all these preparations, Cupid ap^Aared
indifferent to what was passing, and contmued
busily occupied with his pots and pans in the
caboose. This conduct caused some little sor-
prise in Ethelston, who knew that the black was
not the stupid phlegmatic character that he now
seemed ; and he accordingly sent Gregson to
inquire whether, in the event of an attack from
the frigate's boats, he meant to fight 1 desiring
the mate at the same time to offer him a cutlas&
The African grinned when he received this mes-
sage, and replied that he meant to do his best
He declined, however, the proffered cutlass, in-
forming the mate, that he had got a toasting-
fork of his own, ready for the Mounseers ; as he
said this, he showed him the fragment of a cap-
stan-bar, the end of which he had sharpened
and burnt hard in the hot cinders ; it was an
un wieldly kind of club, and in the hands of an
ordinary man, could have been but of little ser-
vice ; but his gigantic strength enabled him to
wield it like a common cudgel. The truth is,
that Cupid would have preferred being armed
with cutlass and pistol, both of which he could
use as well as any man on board ; but he had
tact enough to know that the prejudice against
his colour forbad his taking his place on deck
among the other defenders of the vessel.

The boats being now within hail, Lieutenant
L'Estrange stood up in the launch and ordered
the brig to strike her colours, and receive him
on board. Finding this order unheeded, he re-
peated it through the trumpet in a sterner tone,
adding that, if not immediately obeyed, he
should fire upon her. Not a man stirred on
board the brig, neither was any reply made to
the lieutenant, who forthwith discharged the
contents of his carronade into her hull, by which
one man was killed dead, and two were wound-
ed by splinters ; he then desired his men to pun
hard for the brig to board her, while others had
orders to fire small arms at all whom they could
see above the bulwarks. The boats had ap-
proached within fifty yards before Ethelston
gave the word to fire. Gregson pointed the
long gun upon the smaller boat with so true an
aim that the heavy shot went clean through her,
and she filled and went down in a few minutes,
the survivors of her crew being picked op by
the launch. Meanwhile, Ethelston fired a toI-
ley of grape into the latter with terrible effect,
several being killed on the spot, and many
of the remainder severely wounded. Nothing
daunted by this murderous fire, the gallant
young lieutenant held on his way to the brig

i

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

ip

And again discharging his carronade at the dis-
tance of only a few yards, her timbers were
fearfully rent, and amidst the smoke and confu-
sion thereby created, he and his crew scrambled
op her sides to board. The combat was now
band to hand; nor was it very unequal, so
many of the Frenchmen having been killed and
wounded in the boats ; they were strong enough,
however, to make good their footing on deck,
and inch by inch, they forced back the crew of
the brig. Ethelston fought with the courage of
a lion ; his voice was heard above the din of the
fray, animating his men ; and several of the
boldest of the enemy had already felt the edge
of his cuilass. Nor was young L'Estrange less
gallant in his attack, and his followers being
mure numerous than their* opponents, drove
them back gradually by main force. It was at
this moment, that Cupid, who had hitherto re-
mained unnoticed in bis caboose, thought fit to
commence his operations ; which he did by
throwing a great pan of greasy boiling water
over three or four of the assailants, and then
laying about him with his huge club, which fell-
ed a man almost at every blow. The excrucia-
ting pain occasioned by the hot liquid, together
with the consternation produced by this unex-
pected attack in their rear, completed the dis-
may of the Frenchmen. At this crisis young
L'Estrange slipped and fell on the deck ; Greg-
son, bestriding him, was about to dispatch him,
when Ethelston, who was already bleeding from
a severe cutlass wound in the forehead, rushed
forward to save him ; but the infuriated youth,
perhaps mistaking his intention, drew his last
remaining pistol, and fired with so true an aim,
that Ethelston's left arm fell powerless at his
lide. A flush of anger came over his counte-
lance; but seeing Gregson again raising his
land to dispatch the young officer, he again in-
^rposed, and desired the mate to spare him, —
:n order which the seaman reluctantly obeyed.

Ethelston now entreated L'Estrange to give
ip his sword, and to save farther bloodshed ;
ind the young man, seeing that his followers
were mostly overpowered and wounded, pre-
sented it with a countenance in which grief and
shame were blended with indignation. " Stay,"
•aid Ethelston ; " before I receive your sword,
the conditions on which I receive it are, that
you give your parole, that neither you nor any
one of your men shall bear arms against the
United States, during the continuance of this
war, whether you and I are recaptured or not ;
and the launch becomes my prize."

To these terms the youth assented, and or-
dered such of his men as were not quite disa-
bled, to lay down their arms. In a few min-
Dtes, all who were unhurt were busily engaged
in tending the dying and wounded. Fortunate-
ly an assistant-surgeon, who had volunteered
on this service from the frigate, was among
those unhurt, and he set about his professional
duties with as much alacrity as if he had been
in the ward of a hospital. Cupid retreated
quietly to his caboose, and Ethelston continued
giving his orders with the same clearness and
decision that had marked his whole conduct.
Young DEstrange looked over the brig's low
Bides into the water ; his heart was too full for
utterance ; and his captor, with c^onsiderate
kindne .- bftia«.*»^ from addressing him. The

surgeon, observing that the blood still flowed
from the wound on Ethelston's forehead, and
that his led arm hung at bis side, now came and
ofifered his services. Thanking him courteous-
ly, he replied, smiling, ** I took my chance of
wounds on equal terms with those brave fel-
lows, and I will take my chance of cure on equal
terms also ; when you have attended to all those
who are more seriously hurt, I shall be happy to
avail myself of your skill."

The surgeon bowed and withdrew. An audi-
ble groan burst from the unhappy L*Estrange,
but still he spoke not; and Ethelston held a
brief consultation with his mate and the car-
penter, the result of which was, an order given
to the former, in a low tone of voice, " to pre-
pare immediately, and to send Cupid to him in
the cabin."

As he was going down, L'Estrange came to
him, and asked him, confusedly, and with an
averted countenance, if he might speak to him
alone for a minute. Ethelston begged him to
follow him into his cabin, when, having shut
the door, he said, "M. L'Estrange, we are
alone, pray speak ; is there anything in which
I can serve you."

The youth gazed on him for a moment, in an
agony that could not yet find relief in words,
and then falling on the floor, burst, into a flood
of tears. Ethelston was moved and surprised
at this violent grief in one whom he had so
lately seen under the influence of pride and
passion. Taking him kindly by the hand, lio
said, "Pray compose yourself! these are mis-
fortunes to which all brave men are liable.
You did all that a gallant officer could do ;—
success is at the disposal of a higher power ;
you will meet it another day."

" Never, never !" said the young lieutenant,
vehemently ; ** the loss of my boat is nothing ;
the failure of our attack is nothing; but I am a
dishonoured coward, and Heaven itself cannot
restore a tainted honour 1"

" Nay, nay," replied Ethelston ; " you must
not say so. I maintain that you and your crew
fought gallantly till every hope of success was
gone— the bravest can do no morel"

*' You are blindly generous," said the youth,
passionately ; " you will not understand me !
When every hope was gone — ^when I lay at
the mercy of your mate's cutlass — ^you sprang
forward to save my life. — I, like a savage — a
monster — a coward as I am, — ^fired and tried to
kill you ;— even then, without a word of anger
or reproach, you, although wounded by my pis-
tol, again interposed, and saved me from the
death I deserved. Oh, would that I had died
an hundred deaths rather than have lived to
such disgrace !"

And again the unhappy young officer buried
his face in his hands, while his whole frame
still trembled convulsively with grief. Ethd-
ston used every exertion to soothe a^d allay
his agitation. He assured him that t\ t wound
he had received was not serious, tb': '. > ue pistol
was fired under a strong exciteme v ix»(l in the
turmoil of a bloody fray, when no r-du's thoughts
are sufficiently collected to regi ate h:s con-
duct; and he forgave him so freely and min-
gled his forgiveness with so many expressions
of kindness and esteem, that he succeeded at
length in restoring him to a certain degree o.

36

THE PRAIRIEBIRD.

composure. Nothing, however, would satisfy
L'Estrange but that he should hhve his wounds
instantly dressed ; and he ran hinoselfand sum-
moned the surgeon, resolving to be present at
the operation.

When Ethelston's clothes were removed, it
appeared that besides a few flesh cuts of no
great consequence, he had received two severe
shot wounds: one from a musket-ball, which
had sunk deep into the left shoulder, the other
from L'Estrange's pistol, by which the bone of
the left arm was broken. The latter was soon
set and bandaged ; but the ball could not be
extracted from the former, either because the
surgeon's skill was not equal to the task, or
from his not having with him the instruments
requisite for the operation. As soon as this
was over, Ethelston dismissed the surgeon ;
and turning good-humouredly to L*Estrange,
he said, " Now, my young friend, I want your
assistance I must lose no time in puttingr all
our men aboard the launch, and taking in as
many stores and necessaries as she will hold,
for this brig is doomed; your swivel and the
frigate's guns have finished her; she is fast
settling down, and in a couple of hours I expect
her to sink."

"On my word, sir," said L'Estrange, "you
will pardon me if I say, that you are the stran-
gest gentleman that I ever yet knew to com-
mand a trading brig ! You out-manceuvre a
frigate, capture her boats, fight as if you bad
done nothing but fight all your life, sit as quiet
under that surgeon's probes and tortures as if
you were eating your dinner, and now talk
calmly of scuttling your brig, for which you
have run all these risks !"

" It is my philosophy. Monsieur I'Estrange. I
tried first to get away without fighting ; when
that was impossible, I fought as well as I could.
What has happened since, and what is yet to
come, I bear as well as I can ! All that I ask
of you is to keep your fellows in order, and
make them assist mine in removing the wound-
ed and the requisite stores on board the launch."
So saying, and again saluting his prisoner, he
went on deck.

Though he struggled thus manfully against
bis emotion, it was with a heavy heart that
Ethelston prepared to bid a final adieu to his
little vessel, which he loved much for her own
sake, — more perhaps for the name she bore.
While giving the necessary orders for this
melancholy duty, his attention was called by
Gregson to a sail that was coming up with the
light evening breeze astern. One look through
the glass sufficed to shew him that she hoisted
French colours; and L'Estrange, who now
came on deck, immediately knew her to be the
Hirondelle, — an armed cutter that acted on this
cruise as a tender to the Epervier. A momen-
tary glow overspread the countenance of Ethel-
ston, as he felt that resistance was hopeless,
and that in another hour his brig would be sunk,
and his brave crew prisoners. But being too
proud to allow the French ofllcer to see his
emotion, he controlled it by a powerful eflfort,
and continued to give his orders with his accus-
tomed coolness and precision.

Though young L'Estrange's heart beat high
at this sudden and unlooked-for deliverance, he
ooald not forbear his admiration at his captor*B

self-possession ; and his own joy was damped
by the remembrance of that portion of his own
conduct which he had so deeply lamented, and
also of the parole he bad given not to bear arms
again during the war. Meantime the removal
of the men, the stores, provisions, and papers
from the brig went on with the greatest order
and dispatch.

Ethelston was the last to leave her ; previous
to his doing so, he made the carpenter Knock
out the oakum and other temporary plugs with
>yhich he had stopped the leaks, being deter-
mined that she should r\pt fall into the bands
of the French. This being completed, the launch
shoved oflT; and while pulling heavily for the
shore, the crew looked in gloomy silence at
their ill-fated brig. Ethelston was almost un-
manned ; for bis heart and his thoughts were
on Ohio's banks, and he could not separate the
recollections of Lucy from the untimely fate of
her favourite vessel. He gazed until his sight
and brain grew dizzy ; he fancied' that he saw
Lucy'^ form on the deck of the brig, and that
she stretched her arms to him for aid. Even
while he thus looked, the waters poured fast
into their victim. She settled, — sank ; and in
a few minutes scarce a bubble on their surface
told where the Pride of Ohio had gone down !
A groan burst from Ethelston's bosom. Nature
could no longer endure the accumulated weight
of fatigue and intense pain occasioned by his
wounds : he sank down insensible in the boat,
and when he recovered his senses, found him-
self a prisoner on board the Hirondelle.

Great had been the surprise of the lieutenant
who commanded her at the disappearance of
the brig which he had been sent to secure ; and
greater still at the condition of the persons
found on board the launch. His inquiries were
answered by young L'Estrange with obvious
reluctance : so having paid the last melancholy
duties to the dead, and afforded all the assist-
ance in his power to the wounded, he put about
the cutter, and made sail fjgr the Epervier.

As soon as young L'Estrange found himself
on the frigate's deck, he asked for an immedi-
ate and private audience of his father, to whom
he detailed without reserve all the circumstan-
ces of the late expedition. He concluded his
narration with the warmest praises of Ethel-
ston's courage, conduct, and humanity, while
he repeated that bitter censure of his own beha-
viour which he had before expressed on board
the Pride of Ohio. The gallant old Captain,
though mortified at the failure of the enterprise
and the loss of men that he had sustained, could
not but appreciate the candour, and feel for the
mortification of his favourite son ; and he readi-
ly promised that Ethelston should be treated
with the greatest care and kindness, and that
the most favourable terms, consistent with his
duty, should be ofifered to the prisoners.

Young L'Estrange gave up hts own berth to
Ethelston, whose severe sufferings had been
succeeded by a weakness and lethargy yet more
dangerous. The surgeon was ordered to at-
tend him ; and his care was extended to all the
wounded, without distinction of country.

After a few days Captain I'Estrange deter-
mined to exchange Gregson, the mate, and the
remainder of the brig's crew, for some French
prisoners lately taken by an Amencan priva*

THE PRAIRIEBIRD.

37

.t^er; they were accordingly placed for that
purpose on baird the cutter, and sent to New-
Orleans. Young L*Estrange having learned
from the mate the address of Colonel Brandon
and his connection wiih Ethelston, wrote him a
letter, in which he mentioned the latter in the
highest and most affectionate terms, assuring
the Colonel that he should be treated as if he
were his own brother ; and that, although the
danger arising from his wounds rendered it ab-
solutely necessary that he should return to
Guadaloupe with the frigate, his friends might
rely upon his being tended with the same care
as if he had been at home. Cupid, at his own
argent entreaty, remained with hid master, tak-
ing charge of all his private baggage and papers.

We need not follow the fate of the cutter any
fiirther than to say that she reached her desti-
nation in safety ; that the proposed exchange
was effected, and the prisoners restored to
their respective homes.

The surgeon on board the Epervier succeeded
at length in taking out the ball lodged in Ethel-
8ton*s shoulder, and when they arrived at Gua-
daloupe, he pronounced his patient out of dan-
l^er, but enjoined the strictest quiet and con-
finement, till his recovery sho^ild be farther
advanced. The ardent young L*Estrange no
sooner reached home than he prevailed on his
fether to receive Ethelston into his own house.
He painted to his sister Nina, a girl of seven-
teen, the sufferings and the heroism of their
pest, in the most glowing colours ; he made
her prepare for him the most refreshing and re-
storing beverages ; he watched for hours at the
side of his conch ; in short, be lavished upon
him all those marks of affection with which a
hasty and generous nature loves to make repa-
ration for a wrong. In all these attentions and
endeavours, he was warmly seconded by Nina,
who made her brother repeat more than once,
the narrative of the defence and subsequent loss
of the brig. How Ethelston *s recovery pro-
ceeded under the care of the brother and sister
shall be told in another chapter.

CHAPTER Xn.

Visit of Wlngenund to Mooefianne. He rejoins War-
Eagle, and they return to their band in ue fiu-west
M. Perrot makes an unsocceasfol attack on the heart
ef a young lady.

We must now return to Mooshanne, where
Colonel Brandon received Wingenund very
kindly ; and within half an hour of the arrival
of the party, they were all seated at his hospi-
table board, whereon smoked venison steaks,
various kinds of fowls, a substantial ham, cakes
of rice, and Indian maize. On the side-table
were cream, wild honey, cheese, and preserved
fruits, aii these delicacies being admirably
served under the superintendence oi Aunw Ma-
ry, who was delighted with Wingenund, praised
the extreme beauty of his eyes and features.
Celling the Colonel, in a whisper, that if she had
been thirty-five years younger, she should have
been afraid of losing her heart ! The youth
was indeed the hero of the day : all were grate-
ful to him for his gallant preservation of Regi-
oa]dV> life, and all strove with equal anxi«^ty to
nake him forget that ne was among strangers.

Nor was the task difficult ; for though he had
only the use of one hand, it was surprising to
see the tact and self-possession with which he
conducted himself, the temperate quietness
with which he ate and drank, and the ease with
which he handled some of the implements tft
table, which be probably saw for the first time.
Baptiste was a privileged person in the Coloners
house, and was allowed to dine as he pleased,
either with its master, or with Perrot and the
other servants. On this occasion, he was pre-
sent in the dining-room, and seemed to take a
pleasure in drawing out the young Delaware,
and in making hire talk on subjects which he
knew vvould be interesting to the rest of the
party. Wingenund was quiet and reserved in
his replies, except when a question was put to
him by Lucy, to whom he gave his answers
with the greatest naievet^, telling her more
than once, that she reminded him of his sister
Prairie-bird, but that the latter was taller, and
had darker hair. W^hile addressing her, he kept
his Targe speaking eyes so riveted upon Lucy's
countenance, that she cast her own to the
ground, almost blushing at the boy's earnest
and admiring gaze. To relieve herself from
embarrassment, she again inquired about this
mysterious sister, saying, **Tell me, Winge-
nund, has she taught you to read, as weU as to
speak our tongue.'*

** No," said the youth ; " Prairie-bird talks
with the Great Spirit, and with paper books, and
so does the Black Father ; but Wingenund cannot
understand them, — he is only a poor Indian.'*

Here Reginald, whose curiosity was much
excited, inquired, " Does the Prairie-bird look
kindly on the young chiefs of the tribe ? — WiU
she be the wile of a chief?"

There was something both of surprise and
scorn in Wingenund's countenance, as he re>
plied, *' Prairie- bird is kind to all — the yoqng
chiefs find wives among the daughters of the
Delawares ; — but the antelope mates not with
the moose, though they feed on the same prai-
rie. The Great Spirit knows where the Prai-
rie-bird was born ; but her race is unknown to
the wise men among the Tortoises."

Reginald and his sister were equally at a loss
to understand hie meaning ; both looked inqui-
ringly at the Guide, who was rubbing his ear,
as if rather puzzled by the young I^laware's
answer. At length, he said, " Why, Miss Lucy,
you see, much of what the lad says is as plain
to me as the sight on my rifle : for the tribes of
the Lenap^ are as well known to me as th9
totems of the Oggibeways. The Great natioa
is divided into three tribes : — the Mmsi, or the
Wolf- tribe (sometimes called also Puncsit, or
round-foot) ; the Unalacticos, or the Turkey-
tribe, and the UnanUs, or the Tortoise-tribe.
The last are considered the principal and most
ancient ; and as Wingenund's family are of this
band, he spoke just now of their wise meB«
But who, or wnat kin' o* crittur this Prairie-
bird can be, would puzzle a Philadelphy lawyer
to tell, let alone a pioor hunter who knows httle
out of the line of his trade."

"Then, Baptiste," said Lucy, smiling ; "vour
trade is a pretty extensive one, for T thinx yon
have more knowledge m your head on most
subjects than half the lawyers and clerks in the
Territoiy."

38

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

"There it is, Miss Lacy; you're always a
givin' me a little dose of flattery, just as I give
my patches a bit of grease to make the Doctor
swallow his lead pills. You ladies think we're
all alike, — ^young sparks, and tough old chaps
like me, — if you do but dip our fingers into the
lioney-pot, you know we shall lick them as soon
as your backs are turned ! But it is getting late,"
he added, rising from his seat; "and I have
much to say to this youth, who is already tired ;
with your leave, Miss, I will retire with him,
and see that he has a comfortable sleeping-
quarter, and that he wants for nothing."

** Pray do so," said Lucy ; " let him be treat-
ed as if he were one of our own family. I am
aure, dear papa, such would he your wish," she
added, turning to her father.

" It is indeed, my child," said the Colonel.
** Wlngenund, again I beg you to receive a fa-
ther's best thanks for your brave defence of his
aon."

" It was nothing," replied the boy, modestly.
"You are all good, too good to Wingenund ;
when he gets to the Far Prairie, he will tell the
Prairie-bird and the Black Father to speak to
the Great Spirit, that He may smile on my
white father, and on my brother; and," he
added, slowly raising his dark eloquent eyes to
Locy*s face, " that he may send down pleasant
aunshine and refreshing dew on the Lily of
Mooshanne." Sp saying, he turned and left
the room, accompanied by the Guide.

" Well," exclaimed the Colonel, as the youth
disappeared, " they may call that lad a savage ;
but his feelings, ay, and his manners too, would
put to shame those of many who think them-
i»e ves fine gentlemen."

" He is, indeed, a noble young fellow," said
Reginald, " and worthy to be the relative and
pupil of my Indian brother. I would that you
had seen Aim, father : you are in general rather
sceptical as to the qualities of the Redskins. I
think the War-Eagle would surprise you !"

"Indeed, Reginald," said the Colonel, "I
have seen among them so much cruelty, cun-
ning, and drunkenness, that the romantic no-
tions which I once entertained respecting them
are completely dissipated. Nevertheless, I con-
fess that many of their worst faults have arisen
from their commerce with the whites ; and they
atiil retain some virtues which are extremely
rare among us."

"To which do you allude 1" inquired Regi-
nald.

" More especially, to patience under suffering,
^ padlocked mouth when entrusted with a secret,
and unshaken fidelity in friendship."

" These are indeed high and valuable quali-
ties," replied Reginald. " Moreover, it strikes
me that in one principal feature of character
the Indian is superior to us ; he acts up to his
creed. That creed may be entirely based on
error; it may teach him to prefer revenge to
mercy, thed to industry, violence to right ; but
auch as he has learnt it from his fathers, he
acts up to it more firmly and consistently than
we do, * who know the right, and still the wrong
pursue.' "

" Your observation is just," replied his fath-
4St; "they are benighted, and do many of the
•leeds of darkness. What shall we say of those
who do them under the light of a noon-day sun V*

"And yet," said Lacy, "this Wingcnunu
seems half a Christian, and more than half a
g:entleman, either by nature, or by the instrnc
tions of the strange beiug he calls the Prairie
bird !"

" Upon my word, Lucy," said her brother
with a malicious smile, " I thought, while tho
lad was speaking of his sister on the Prairie,
his eyes were strangely fixed upon the white
lady in the wigwam. It is fortunate he is going
soon ; and still more fortunate that a certain
cruizing captain is not returned from the West
Indies." As this impertinent speech was made
in a whisper, it did not reach Aunt Mary or the
Colonel ; and the only reply it drew from Lucy,
was a blushing threat of a repetition of the same
punishment which she had inflicted in the morn-
ing for a similar offence. He begged pardon,
and was forgiven ; soon after which the little
party broke up and retired to rest.

Meantime Baptiste, who knew that the well-
intentioned offer of a bed-room and its comforts
would be a great annoyance to Wingenund, took
the lad out with him to a dry barn behind the
house, where there was an abundant supply of
clean straw, and where he intended to lodge
him for the night. "Wingenund," said he,
" you will rest here for some hours ; but we
must go along before daylight to meet War-
Eagle, according to my promise."

" I will be ready," replied the youth ; and
casting himself down on a bundle of straw, in
five minutes his wounds and fatigues were for-
gotten in a refreshing sleep, over which hovered
the bright dreanis of youth, wherein the sweet
tunes of his sister's voice were confused with
the blue eyes of Lucy ; and yet withal a sleep,
such as guilt can never know, and the wealth
of the Indies cannot purchase.

Before three o'clock on the following morn-
ing, the Guide re-entered the barn with a light
step ; not so light, however, as to escape the *
quick ear of the young Indian, who leaped from
his straw couch, and throwing his rifle over his
shoulder, stood before the hunter. " I hope you
slept well," said the latter, " and that your arm
gives you less pain V

" I slept till you came," said the boy, " and
the pain sleeps still. I feel nothing of it."

" Wingenund will be like his father," said
the Guide. "He will laugh at pain, and fatigue,
and danger; and his war-path will be sprinkled
with the blood of his eneinie? "

The youth drew himself proudly up, and
though gratified by the Guide's observation,
merely replied, "The Great Spirit knows.— I
am ready ; let us go." •

Baptiste bad provided a couple of horses, and
they started at a brisk pace, as he wished to
reach the spot where he had appointed to meet
War-Eagle soon after day-light. To one less
familiar with the woods, the tangled and wind-
ing path, through which he led the way, would
have offered many impediments ; but Baptists
went rapidly forward without hesitation or dif-
ficulty, Wingenund following in silence; and
after a brisk ride of three hours they came U
an opening in the forest, where a log- hut wai
visible, and beyond it the broad expanse of
Ohio's stream.

The Guide here whispered to Wingenund to
remain concealed in the thicket with the horses

THE PRAIRIB-BIRD.

39

wkfle he reconnoitered the hut; hecause he
<new that it was sometimes used as a shelter
and a rendezvous, by some of the lawless and
desperate characters oa the borders of the set-
tlements.

Having finished his examination, and ascer-
tained that the hut was empty, he returned to
Wingenund, and desired him to come -down to
the Hater's edge, where he was to make a sig-
nal for War-E^e, who ought to be now at no
great distance. The youth accordingly went
to the river's bank, and understanding from the
Guide that there was no occasion for farther
concealment, he gave three whistles in a pecu-
liar tone, but exceedingly loud and shrill. For
some time they listened for a reply. Nothing
was heard, except the tap of the woodpecker
upon the bark of the elm, and the notes of the
various feathered choristers chirping their ma-
tin song.

After a pause of several minutes, the Guide
said, '* Surely some accident has detained War-
Eagle! Perhaps he has failed in getting the
eaooe. Repeat the signal, Wingenund."

" War-Eagle is here," replied the youth, who
was quietly leaning on his rifle, with an ab-
stracted air.

Again the Guide listened attentively ; and as
be was unable to distinguish the slightest sound
indicative of the chiefs approach, he was rath-
er vexed at the superior. quickness implied in
Wingenund's reply, and said somewhat testily,
** A moose might hear something of him, or a
bloodhound might find the wind of him, but I
can Riake out nothing, and my ears an't used to
be stuffed with cotton, neither !"

** Grande-Hache is a great warrior, and Win-
genund would be proud to follow in his war-
path ; eyes and ears are the gift of the Great
Spirit."

" How know you that War- Eagle is here 1"
inquired the Guide impatiently.

"By that,*' replied the boy, pointing to a
scarcely perceptible mark on the bank a few
yards from his feet, " that is the mocassin of
the War- Eagle ; he has been to the hut this
morning ; below that foot-print you will see on
the sand the mark of where his canoe has
touched the ground."

•* The boy is right," muttered Baptiste, ex-
amining the marks carefully. *' I believe I am
no hunter, but an ass after all, with no better
ears and eyes than Master Perrot, or any other
parlour- boarder."

In a very few minutes the sound of the pad-
dle was heard, and War-Eagle brought his ca-
noe to the bank ; a brief conversation now
took place between him and Baptiste, in which
some particulars were arranged for Reginald's
visit to the Western Prairie. Th% Guide then
taking from his wallet several pounds of bread
and ^f, and a large parcel of tobacco, added
these to the stores in the bottom of the canoe,
and having shaken hands heartily with the
:hief and Wingenund, returned leisurely on his
homeward way ; but he still muttered to him-
self as he went ; and it was evident that he
«oukl not shake off the annoyance which he
felt at being " outcrailed," as he called it, "by
a boy !"

We will not follow the tedious and toilsome
foyage of War- Eagle and his young friend, in

the canoe, a voyage in which after descending
the Ohio, they had to make their way up the
Mississippi to its junction with the Missouri,'
and thence up the latter river to the mouth of
the Osage river, which they also ascended be-
tween two and three hundred miles before they
rejoined their band. It is sufficient foi the
purposes of our tale to inform the reader that
they reached their destination in safety, and
that Wingenund recovered from the effects of
his severe wound.

When Baptiste returned to Mooshatine, he
found the family surprised and annoyed at the
sudden disappearance of their young Indian
guest ; hut when he explained to Reginald that
he had gone to rejom bis chief by War-Eagle's
desire, Reginald felt that the best course had
been adopted, as the boy might, if he had re-
mained, have fallen in the way of the exasper-
ated party who were seeking to revenge Her-
vey's death.

It was about noon when Mike Smith, and
several of those who accompanied him the pre-
ceding day, arrived at Moosbanne, and insisted
upon Baptiste shewing them the spot where be
had told them that an Indian had been recently
buried. Reginald declined being of the party,
which set forth under the conduct of the Guide,
to explore the scene of the occurrences men-
tipned in a former chapter.

During their absence, Reginald was loung-
ing in his sister's boudoir, talking with her over
the events of the preceding days, when tbey
beard the sound of a vehicle driven up to the
door, and the blood rushed into Lucy's face as
the thought occurred to her that it might be
Ethelston ; the delusion was very brief, for a
moment afterwards the broad accent of David
Muir was clearly distinguishable, as be said to
his daughter, *' Noo Jessie, baud a gsip o' Smi-
ler, while I gie a pull at the door-bell."

Much to the surprise of the worthy " Mer-
chaunt," (by which appellation David delight-
ed to be designated,) the door was opened by
no less a personage than Monsieur Gustave
Perrot himself, who seeing the pretty Jessie in
her father's spring-cart, hastened with charac-
teristic gallantry, to assist her to descend ; in
the performance of which operation he extend-
ed both bis hands to support her waist, saying
in his most tender tone, ** Take care. Miss Jes-
sie ; now shump, and trust all your leetle
weight with me."

But while he was speaking, the active girl
putting one foot on the step and touching him
lightly on the arm, stood on the ground beside
him.

" Weel, Mr. Parrot, and how's a wi ye the
day," said David, who was busily employed in
extracting various packages and parcels fiom
the cart.

" All ver' well, thank you, Mr. Muir ; wonder^
ful things happen, though. My young Mr. Re-
ginald he be drowned and stabbed, and quite
well !"

" Gude save us !" said David, in horror ;
*' drowned, and stabbed, and quite well !" Ye're
surely no in earnest, Mr. Parrot !"

** I speak only the truth always, — Miss Jessie,
the fresh air and the ride make your cheek beau-
tiful rosy."

«*Mr. Perrot," replied Jessie, smiling, "I hat

40

TH« PRAIttlE-BIRB.

h a poofr compliment ! Ton are so gallant a
gentleman, yoo should praise the roses in a
lady's cheek witboa't mentioning that she owes
them to k rough road and a fresh breeze !"

This dialogue on roses was here interrupted
by David, who said, " May be, Mr. Parrot, ye'll
just let Smiler be ta'en round to the stable, and
desire ane o* the lads to help us in with these
wa parcels ; yon mUckle basket, there, is brim-
ull of all the newest kick-shaws, and modes,
as them call 'em, frae Philadelphy, so Jessie's
just come wi' me, to gie Miss Lacy the first
ehoice ;-^and she's a right to hae it too, for
she's the horniest and the best young lady in
the Territory."

Mr, Perrot having given these necessary or-
ders, David, with his papers, was soon closeted
With the colonel, in his business room ; and Jes-
sie was ushered into the young lady's boudoir,
where her brother still sat, with the intention
ef giving his sister the benefit of his advice in
the selection of, what David called, kickshaws
and modes, for her toilet. Meanwhile Perrot
was preparing a formidable attack upon Jessie's
heart, through the medium of some venison
steaks, a delicate ragout of squirrel, and sundry
other tit-bits, with which he hoped to propitiate
the village beauty. As Jessie entered the room,
her salutation of Lucy was modestly respectful ;
and she returned Reginald's bow with an unem-
barrassed and not ungraceful courtesy. While
she was drawing out, and placing on a table,
the silken contents of her basket, Reginald in-
quired of her whether any news was stirring in
Marietta.

** None," she replied, " except the killing of
Hervey. All the town is speaking of it, and they
say it will cause more bloodshed; for Mike
Smith vows, if he cannot find the real offender,
he'll shoot down the first Indian he finds in the
woods."

"Mike Smith is a hot-headed fool," replied
Reginald ; but remembering sundry reports
which had reached his ear, he added, ** I beg
your pardon, Miss Jessie, if the words give you
offence."

•* Indeed you have given none. Master Regi-
nald," said Jessie, colouring a little at the im-
plied meaning of his words ; " Mike comes very
often to our store, but I believe it is more for
whiskey than anything else."

"Nay," said Reginald ; "I doubt you do him
injustice. The say he prefers the end of the
store which is the furthest from the bar."

"Perhaps he may," replied Jessie; "I am
always better pleased when be stays away, for
ne is very ill-tempered and quarrelsome ! W«»11,
miss," she continued, *'ar6 not tnese pink rib-
bons oeautiful, and these two light shawls 1 —
they come from the British East India House."

" They are indeed the prettiest and most de-
licate that I ever saw," replied Lucy ; " and see
here, Reginald," said she, drawing him aside,
** these French bead necklaces will do famously
for some of your Delaware friends." She added
in a whisper, " ask her if there is no other news
at the town."

" What about," inquired her brother. A silent
look of reproach was her only reply, as she turn-
eil away, and again busied herself with the silks.
He was instantly conscious and ashamed of his
thoagbtlessness, which, ftfter a few momenta'

silence, he proceeded to repair, saying, " Pray
tell me. Miss Jessie, has your father received nt
intelligence of the * Pride of the Ohio."^

" Alas I not a word," replied the girl, in a ton*
of voice so melancholy, that it startled then
both.

" But why speak you in so sad a voice about '.
the vessel, Jessie, if you have heard no bad news '
regarding her 1" said Reginald, quickly. •

" Because, sir, she has been very lor^ over
due, and there are many reports of French ships
of war ; and we, that is, my father, is much in*
terested about her."

Poor Lucy's colour came and went ; but she
had not the courage to say a word. After a
short pause, Reginald inquired, " Have any boats
come up lately from New Orleans V*

" Yes, sir, Henderson's came up only a few
days ago, and Henry Gregson, who had been
down on some business for my father, retnrned
in her.**

"That is the young man who assists your
father in the store 1 I believe he is a son of the
mate on board the Pride. I have remarked that
he is a very fine looking young fellow |"

" He is the son of Captain Eihelston's mate,**
said Jessie, casting down her eyes, and busying
herself with some of her ribbons and silks
" But I hope," she continued, " that you, Mr
Reginald, are not seriously hurt. Mr. Perrot
told me you had been drowned and stabbed !"

" Not quite so bad as that," said Reginald,
laughing ; " I had, indeed, a swim in the Mus-
kingum, and a blow from a horse's hoof, but am
none the ^orse for either. Do not forget. Miss
Jessie, to send oflTa messenger immediately that
any news arrive of the Pride. You know what
a favourite she is, and how anxious we are har«
about her !'*
" Indeed I will not forget," replied Jessie.
Lucy sighed audibly ; and, after purchasing a
few ribbons and shawls, as well as a stock of
heads for her brother, she allowed Jessie to re-
tire, begging, at the same time, her acceptance
of one of the prettiest shawls in her basket. Aa
the latter hesitated about receiving it, Lucy
threw it over the girl's shoulder, saying playfol-
ly, " Nay, Jessie, no refusal ; I am mistress here ;
and nobody, not even Mr. Reginald, disputes my
will in this room !"

Jessie thanked the young lady, and, saluting
her brother, withdrew to a back parlour, where
Monsieur Perrot had already prepared his good
things, and where her father only waited her
coming to commence a dinner which his drive
had made desirable, and ^^hich hio oliacioiy
nerves told him was more savory than the vi-
ands set before him at Marietta by Mrs. Christie.
"Call yj this a squirrel ragooV said Uie
worthy Merchaunt; "weel now it's an awfu*
thing to think how the Lord's gifts are abused
in the auld country ! I hae seen dizens o' they
wee deevils lilting and louping amaing the v^ods
in the Lothians ; and yet the hungry chaps wha*
can scarce earn a basin «' porritch, or a pot o*
kail to their dinner, would as soon think o' eatin'
a stoat or a foumart !"

While making this observation, Davie was
dispatching the "ragoo" with a satisfaction
which showed how completely he had overcome
his insular prejudices. Nor were Perrot's culi-
naiy attentions altogether lost upon Miss Jesiid :

THE PRAIRIE-BIRB.

41

\

f

tor although she might not repay them entirely
aceerding to the wishes of the gallant Maitre
d'Hotel, she could not help acknowledging that
lie was a pleasant, good-humoured fellow, and
Uiat his abilities as a cook were of the highest
ordei. Accordingly, when he ofTered her a
foaming glass of cider, she drank it to his health,
with a glance of her merry eye sufficient to have
turned the head of a man less vain and amorous
than Monsieur Perrot.

The dinner passed pleasantly enough ; and as
David Muir drove bis daughter back to Marietta,
his heart being warmed and expanded by the
generous cider (which, for the good of his health,
he had crowned with a glass of old rum), he said,
"Jessie, I'm thinkin' that Maister Perrot is a
douce and clever man ; a lassie might do waur
than tak* up wi the like o* him ! Pse warrant
his nest will no be ill feathered !"

"Perhaps not," replied Jessie; and turning
her head away, she sighed, and thought of Henry
Oregson.

CHAPTER Xni.

In which the reader will find that the coagh of an Invalid
has perils not less formidable than those whieh are to
be encountered at sea.

We lell Ethelston stretched on a sick couch
in Guadaloupe, in the house of Captain L*£s-
trange, and tended by his daughter Nina, and
by her brother, the young lieutenant. The lat-
ter grew daily more attached to the patient, who
had been his captor, and was now his prisoner;
bathe was obliged, as soon as Ethelston was pro-
nounced out of danger, to sail for Europe, as he
^vas anxious to obtain that professional distinc-
tion which his parole prevented his gaining in
service against the United States. And in
France there seemed a promising harvest of
combat and of glory, sufficient to satisfy the
martial enthusiasm even of the most adventu-
rous of her sons. When he sailed, he again
and again pressed upon his sister to bestow
every attention upon Ethelston ; and as the
Captain was much busied with his command,
and as Madame L'Estrange was entirely devo-
ted to her boudoir, — where, with two chattering
parrots to amuse her, and a little black girl to
£in her while listlessly poring over the pages of
Florian in a fauteuil, — the whole charge devolv-
ed upon the willing and kind-hearted Nina. She
was the third and youngest daughter of Mon-
sieur and Madame L'Estranse : but (her two
elder sisters nein^r married) tshe was the only
one resident witn her parents.

Sixteen summers bad now passed over her,
uid her disposition was like that of her brother.

frank, impetuous, and warm-hearted. Her
loelings had never been guided or regulated by
her handsome, but indolent mother ; her mind
had been allowed to seek its food at hap-hazard,
among the romances, poems, and plays upon the
shelves in the drawing-room. Her father spoil-
ed, and her brother petted her. A governess
also she had, whom she governed, and to whose
instructions she owed little, except a moderate
proficiency in music. Her countenance was a
very beautiful mirror, reflecting the warm and
impassioned features of her character. Her
complexion was dark, though elear, and her hair

black and glossy. The pencilling of her «y*'
brows was exceedingly delicate ; and the eyes
themselves were large, speaking, and glowing
with that humid lustre, which distinguishes
Creole beauty. Nothing could exceed the rosy
fulness of her lip, and the even whiteness of
the teeth which her joyous smile disclosed.
Her figure was exquisitely proportioned; and
her every movement a very model of natural
grace. She seemed, indeed, impregnated with
the fervour of the sunny climate in which she
had been reared ; and her temper, her imagina-
tion, her passions, all glowed with its ardent,
but dangerous warmth. According to the usage
of her country, sl^e had been betrothed, when a
child, to a neighbouring planter, one of the rich-
est in the island ; but as he was absent in Eu-
rope, and there remained yet two years before
the time fixed for the ful^lment of the contract,
she rarely troubled her head about the marriage,
or her future destiny.

Such was the girl who now officiated as nurse
to Ethelston, and who, before she had seen him,
had gathered from her brother such traits of his
character, as had called forth all the interest
and sympathy of her romantic disposition. Al-
though not eminently handsome, we have be-
fore noted that his countenance was manly and
expressive, and his manners courteous and en-
gaging. Perhaps also the weakness remaining
af^r the crisis of his fever, imparted, to the
usually gentle expression of his features, that
touching attraction, which is called by a modern
poet " a loving languor." At all events, certain
it is, that ere poor Nina had administered the
third saline draught to her grateful patient, her
little heart beat vehemently ; and when she had
attended his feverish couch one short week, she
was desperately in love !

How fared it in the meantime with Ethelston ?
Did his heart run any risk from the dark eloquent
eyes, and the gracefully rounded form of the
miuistering angel who hovered about his sick
room 1 At present none, for Lucy was shrined
there ; and he had been taught by young L'Es-
trange to consider his sister in the light of a
nursery-girl, still under the dominion of the
governess.

Days and weeks elapsed, Ethelston 's recovery
progressed, and he was able to stroll in the shade
of the orange and citron-groves, which sheltered
Captain L'Estrange's villa to the northward
Here, with his eyes fixed on the sea, would he
sometimes sit for hours, and devise schemes foi
returning to his home. On these occasions hf
was trequenii> nccompaDied by Nina, who walk-
ed by his side with her guitar in her hand ; and
under the pretence of. receiving instructions
from him in music, she would listen with delight,
and hang with rapture, on every syllable that
he utter^. Though he could not avoid being
sensible of her ripening beauty, his heart was
protected by the seven-fold shield of a deep and
abidingr attachment ; and as he still looked upon
Nina as a lovely girl, corppleting her education
in the nursery, he gladly gave her all the assis-
tance that she asked under her musical difficul*
ties ; and this he was able to do, from having
made no small proficiency in the science during
his long residence in Germany.

Sometimes he paid his respects to Madame
L'Estrange ; but that lady was so indolent, and

43

THE PRAIRIE. BIRp.

80 ezcIasiYely devoted to her parrots and her
lap-dog, that his visits to her were neither fre-
quent, nor of long duration. The Captain was
Tery seldom ashore ; and thus Eihelston was
obliged to spend his time alone, or in the society
of the young girl who had nursed him so kindly
daring his illness. Her character seemed to
have undergone a sudden and complete change.
The conquering god, who had at first only taken
possession of the outworks of her fancy, had
now made himself master of the citadel of her
neart. She loved with all the intense, absorb-
ing passion of a' nature that had never known
control. The gaiety and buoyancy of her spirits
had given place to a still, deep flood of feeling,
which her reason never attempted to restrain.
Even when with Aim she spoke little. Her hap-
piness was too intense to find a vent in words ;
and thus she nursed and fed a flame, that need-
ed only the breath of accident to mal^e it burst
forth with a violence that should burn up, or
overleap all the barriers of self-control.

Nor must the reader imagine that Ethelston
was dull or blind, because he observed not the
state of Nina's affections. His own were firmly
rooted elsewhere ; he was neither of a vain, nor
B romantic disposition ; and he had been duly
informed by Monsieur L'Estrange, that in the
course of two years Nina was to be married to
Monsieur Bertrand, the young planter, to whom,
as we have before mentioned, she had been be-
trothed by her parents since her thirteenth year.
He could not help seeing that although her in-
tellect was quick, and her character enthusias-
tic, her education had been shamefully neglect-
ed both by Madame L'Estrange and the gov-
erness. Hence he spoke, counselled, and some-
times chid her, in the tone of an elder brother,
heedless of the almost imperceptible line that
separates friendship from love in the bosom of
B girl nurtured under a West Indian sunt

In this state were matters, when, on a fine
evening, Ethelston strolled alone into his favour-
ite orange-grove, to look out upon the ocean,
and in the enjoyment of its refreshirit. breeze,
to ruminate on his strange captivity, and revolve
various plans of escape.

Captain L'Estrange had paid a visit to his
home on the preceding day, and finding his
prisoner so completely restored to health and
strength, had said to him. jokingly, "Indeed,
fair sir, I think I must put you on your parole,
or in chains ; for after the character given of
you by my son, I cannot allow so dangerous a
person to be at large during the continuance of
hostilities between our respective nations."

Ethelston answered half in earnest, and half
in jest, " Nay, sir, then I must wear the chains,
for assuredly I cannot give my parole ; if an
American vessel were to come in sight, or any
other means of flight to offer itself, depend upon
it, in spite of the kindness and hospitality I have
met with here, I should weigh anchor in a mo-
ment."

" Well, that is a fair warning," said the old
ommodore ; " nevertheless I will not lock you
Op just yet, for I do not think it very likely that
any strange sail will come under the guns of
our fort ; and I will run the risk of your flying
away on the baek of a sea-gull." Thus had
they parted ; and the old genUeman was again
absent on a cruise.

Ethelston was, as we have said, renimmg
listlessly under an orange-tree, inhalir g the cool
breeze, laden with the fragrance of its blossoms,
now devising impossible plans of escape, and
now musing on a vision of Lucy's graceful figure
gliding among the deep woods around Moos-
hanne. As these thoughts passed through his
mind, they imparted a melancholy shade to his
brow, and a deep sigh escaped from his lips.

It was echoed by one yet deeper, close to his
ear; and starting from his reverie, he beheld
Nina, who had approached him unawares, and
who, leaning on her guitar, had been for the
lA^t few minutes gazing on his countenance
with an absorbed intensity, more fond and
riveted than that with which the miser regards
his treasure, or the widowed mother her only
child.

When she found herself perceived, she came
forward, and covering her emotion under an
assumed gaiety, she said, *'What is my kind
instructor thinking of 1 He seems more grave
and sad than usual."

" He is thinking," said Ethelston, good-ha-
mouredly, "that he ought to scold a certain
young lady very severely for coming upon him
slily, and discovering that gravity and sadness
in which a captive must sometimes indulge,
but which her presence has already dissipated."

" Nay," said Nina, still holding her guitar,
and sitting down on the bank near him ; " you
know that I am only obeying papa's orders in
watching you ; for he says you would not give
your parole, and I am sure you were thinking
of your escape from Guadaloupe."

" Perhaps you might have guessed more
wide of the mark, Mademoiselle Nina," said
Ethelston.

*' And are you then so very anxious to — to—
see your home again 1" inquired Nina, hesitating.

" Judge for yourself, Nina," he replied, ** when
I remind you that for many months I have heard
nothing of those who have been my nearest and
dearest friends from childhood ; nothing of the
brave men who were captured with me when
our poor brig was lost !"

" Tell me about your friends, and your home.
Is it very beautiful t Have you the warm sun,
and the fresh sea-breeze, and the orange-flow
ers, that we have herel"

" Scarcely," replied Ethelston, smiling at the
earnest rapidity with which the beautiful girl
founded her inquiries on the scene before her,
"but we have in their place rivers on the bosom
of which your father's frigate might sail ; groves
and woods of deep shade, impenetrable to tho
rays of the hottest sun : and prairies smiling
with the most brilliant and variegated flowers."

" Oh ! how I should love to see that land !**
exclaimed Nina, her fervid imagination instantly
grasping and heightening its beauties. " How
I should love to dwell there !"

** Nay, it appears to me not unlikely that you
may at some time visit it," replied Ethelston.
"This foolish war between our countries will
soon be over, and your father may wish to see
a region the scenery of which is so magnificent,
and which is not difllcult of access from here.'*

" Papa will never leave these islands, unless
he goes to France, and that he hates," said
Nina.

"Well then,*^ continued Ethelston, smilin|t«

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

48

\

as be alluded for the first time to her marriage,
"you must defer your American trip a year or
two longer ; then, doubtless, Monsieur Bertrand
win gladly gratify your desire to see the Mis-
sissippi. '*

Nina started as if stung by an adder; the
blood rusbed and mantled over her face and
neck ; her eyes glowed with indignation, as she
exclaimed, '* I abhor and detest Monsieur Ber-
trand. I would die before I would marry him I"
Then adding in a low voice, the sadness of
which went to bis heart, " and this from you
too !" She covered her face with her hands and
wept.

Never was man more astonished than Ethel-
ston at the sudden storm which he had inad-
vertently raised. Remembering that Madame
L'Estrange had told him of the engagement as
being known to Nina, he had been led to sup-
pose from her usual flow of spirits, that the
prospect was far from being disagreeable to her.
Toung L'Estrange had also told him that Ber-
trand was a good-looking man^ of high charac-
ter, and considered, from his wesdth, the best
match in the French islands; so that Ethelston
was altogether unprepared for the violent aver-
sion which Nina now avowed for the marriage,
and for the grief by which she seemed so deeply
agitated. Siill he was as far as ever from di-
vining the true cause of her emotion, and con-
jectured that she had probably formed an at-
tachment to one of the young officers on board
her father's ship. Under this impression he
took her hand, and sympathising with the grief
of one so fair and so young, he said to her,
kindly, " Forgive me, Nina, if I have said any-
thing to hurt your feelings ; indeed I always
have believed that your engagement to Mon-
sieur Bertrand was an affair settled by your
parents entirely with your consent. I am sure
Monsieur L'Estrange loves his favourite child
too well to compel her to a marriage against
her inclination. Will you permit your Ment«r
(as you have more than once allowed me to
call myself) to speak with him on the subject V

Nina made no reply, and the tears coursed
each other yet faster down her cheek.

"Your brother is absent," continued Ethel-
ston; <*you seem not to confide your little
secrets to your mother — will you not let me aid
you by my advice t I am many years older than
you.— I am deeply grateful for all your kindness
during my tedious illness ; believe me, I will, if
you will only trust me, advise you with the
affectionate interest of a parent, or an elder
brother."

The little hand trembled violently in his, but
still no reply escaped from Nina*s lips.

"If you will not tell me your secret," pursued
Ethelston, " I must guess it. Your aversion to
the engagement arises not so much from your
dislike to Monsieur Bertrand, as from your pre-
ference of some other whom perhaps your pa-
fents would not approve 1"

The hand w^as withdrawn, being employed in
to inefiTectual attempt to check her tears. The
tlight 611et which bound her black tresses had
Jiven way, and they now fell in disorder, veifing
tile deep crimson glow which again mantled
•ver the neck of the weeping girl.

Ethelston gazed on her with emotions of deep
TQipatby. There was a reality, a dignity about

her speechless grief that must have moved »
sterner heart than his ; and as he looked opoc
the heaving of her bosom, and upon the exqui-
site proportions unconsciously developed in hei
attitude, he suddenly felt that he was speakings
not to a child in the nursery, but to a girl in
whose form and heart the bud and blossom Oi
womanhood were thus early ripened. It was,
therefore, in a tone, not less kind, but more re-
spectful than he had hitherto used, that he said,
*' Nay, Nina, I desire not to pry into your se-
crets — I only wish to assure you of the deep
sympathy which I feel with your sorrow, and of
my desire to aid or comfort you by any means
within my power ; but if my curiosity offends
you, I will retire in the hope that your own gen
tie thoughts may soon afford you relief"

Again the little hand was laid upon his arm,
as Nina, still weeping, whispered, ** No, no, —
you do not offend me. — Do not leare me, I en«
treat you !"

A painful silence ensued, and Ethelston more
than ever confirmed in the belief that she had
bestowed her affections on some young middy,
or lieutenant, under her father^s command, con-
tinued in a tone which he attempted to render
gay : " Well then, Nina, since you will not give
your confidence to Mentor, he must appoint
himself your confessor ; and to commence, he
is right in believing that your dislike to Mon-
sieur Bertrand arises from your having given
your heart elsewhere T*

There was no reply ; but her head was bowed
in token of acquiescence !

"I need not inquire," he pursued, " whethei
the object of your choice is, in rank and charac-
ter, worthy of your affection 1"

In an instant the drooping head was raised,
and the dark tresses thrown back from her
brow, as, with her eyes flashing through the
moisture by which they were still bedewed,
Nina replied, *♦ Worthy ! — worthy the affection
of a queen !"

Ethelston, startled by her energy, was about
to resume his inquiries, when Nina, whose ex-
cited spirit triumphed for the moment over all
restraint, stopped him, saying, *• I wHl spare you
the trouble of farther questions. I will tell you
freely, that till lately, very lately, I cared for
none. — Mbnsieur Bertrand and all others were
alike to me ; but fate threw a stranger in my
path. — He was a friend of my brother ; — ^he was
wounded. — For hours and hours I watched by
his coucb ; — he revived ;-^his looks were gen-
tle ; his voice was music. — I drew counsel from
his lips; — ^he filled my thoughts, my dreams,
my heart, my being ! But he — ^he considered
me only as a silly child ; — he understood not
my heart ; — he mocked my agony ; — he saved
my brother's life, — and is now accomplishing
the sister's death I"

The excitement which supported Nina during
the commencement of this speech, gradually
died away. Towards its close, her voice grew
tremulous, and as the last words escaped her
quivering lips, exhausted nature gave way un-
der the burden of her emotion, and she fainted !

The feelings of Ethelston may be better ima-
gined than described. As the dreadful import
of the poor girl's words gradually broke upos
him, his cheeks grew paler and paler ; and when,
at their conclusion, her senseless form lay ev-

44

THE PBAJRIE-BIBD.

tended at his feet, the cold dew of agony, stood
in drops upon his forehead ! But Nina's condi-
tion demanded immediate aid and attention.
Mastering himself by a powerful effort, he
matched a lemon from a neighbouring tree ; he
eiit it in half, and sustaining the still insensible
girU he chafed her hands, and rubbed her tem-
ples with the cool refreshing juice of the fruit.
Vfter a time, he had the consolation of seeing
her restored gradually to her senses ; and a
faint smile came over her countenance as she
found herself supported by his arm. Still she
closed her eyes, as if in a happy dream, which
Etheli^ton could not bring himself to disturb ;
and, as the luxuriant black tresses only half
veiled the touching beauty of her countenance,
he groaned at the reflection that he had inad-
vertently been the means of shedding the blight
of unrequited love on a budding flower of such
exquisite lovdiness. A long silenee ensued,
softened, rather than interrupted, by the low
wind as it whispered through the leaves of the
orange grove ; while the surrounding landscape,
and the wide expanse of ocean, glowed with the
red golden tints of the parting sun. ^o unpligkt-
ed heart could have resisted all the assauing
temptations of that hour. But Ethelston's heart
was not unplighted ; and the high principle and
generous warmth of his nature served only to
deepen the pain and sadness of the present mo-
ment. He formed, however, his resolution;
and as soon as he found that Nina was restored
to consciousness and to a certain degree of
composure, he gently withdrew the arm which
had supported her, and said, in a voice of most
melancholy earnestness, "Dear Nina! I will
not pretend to misunderstand what you have
said. — I have much to tell you ; but I have not
now enough command over myself to speak,
while you are still too agitated to listen. Meet
me here to-morrow at this same hour ; mean-
while, I entreat you, recal those harsh and un-
kind thoughts which you entertained of me ;
and believe me, dear, dear sister, that I would,
rather than have mocked your feelings, have
died on that feverish couch, from which your
care revived me." So saying, he hastened
from her presence in a tumult of agitation
scarcely less than her own.

For a long time she sat motionless, in a kind
of waking dream ; his parting words yet dwelt
in her ear, and her passionate heart construed
them now according to its own wild throbbings,
now according to its gloomiest fears. " He lus
much to tell me," she mused ; " he called roe
dear Nina ; he spoke not in a voice of indiffer*
ence: his eve was full of a troubled expression
that 1 could not reau. Aia$ ! alan 'twas onlv
pity ! He called me ' dear sister !' — what can
he mean I'^Oh that to-morrow were come ! I
shall not outlive the night unless I can believe
that he loves me !'* And then she fell again
into a reverie ; during which all the looks and
tones that her partial fancy had interpreted, and
%er too faithful memory had treasured, were
recalled, and repeated in a thousand shapes;
tntfl exhausted by her agitation, and warned
by the darkness of the hour, Nina retired to her
•ieepless couch.

Meanwhile Ethelston, when he found himself
alone in his room, scrutinized with the most
intpariDg severity his past conduct, endeavour-

ing to remember every careless or unheeded
word by which he could havie awakened or 'en-
couraged her unsuspected affection. He could
only blame himself that he had not been more
observant 5 that he had considered' Nina too
much in the light of a child ; and had habitual-
ly spoken .to her in a tone of playful and confi-
dential familiarity. Thus, though his conscience
acquitted him of the most remote intention of
trifling with her feelings, he accused himself of
having neglected to keep a watchful guard over
his language and behaviour, and resolved, at the
risk of incurring her anger or her hatred, to tdll
her firmly and explicitly On the morrow, that
he could not requite her attachment as it d^
served, his heart having been long and faithful
ly devoted to another.

CHAPTER XIV.

Narrating; the trials and dangers that beset Ethelsum ; aiitf
bow he escaped from tbem, and from the Island of
Gkiadaloupe.

The night succeeding the occurrences related
in the last chapter brought little rest to the pil-
low either of Nina or of Ethelston ; and on the
following day, as if by mutual agreement, they
avoided each other's presence, until the hoar
appointed for their meeting again in the orange
grove. Ethelston was firmly resolved to ex-
plain to her unreservedly his long engagement
to Lucy, hoping that the feelings of Nina would
prove, in this instance, rather impetuous than
permanent. The tedious day appeared to her
as if It never would draw to a close. She fled
from her mother, and from the screaming par-
rots ; she tried the guitar, but it seemed tune-
less and discordant ; her pencil and her book
were, by turns, taken up, and as soon laid aside ;
she strolled even at mid-day into tHe brange
grove, to the spot where she had last sat by
him, and a blush stole over her cheek when
she remembered that she had been betrayed
into an avowal of her love : and then came the
doubt, the inquiry, whether he felt any love fbr
her 1 Thus did she muse and ponder, until the
hours, which in the morning had appeared io
creep so sUwly over the face of the dial, now
glided unconsciously forward. Th^ dinner-hour
had passed unheeded ; and before she had sutn-
moned any uf the courage and flrmness which
she meant to call to her aid, Ethelston stood
before her. He was surprised at finding Nina
on this spot, and had approached it long before
the appointed time, in order that he might pre-
pare himself for the difficult and painful task
which he had undertaken. But though unpre-
pareu, Lis mind was of too Arm and regulated a
character to be surprised out oi a flxed deter>
mination ; and he came up and offered his hand
to Nina, greeting her in his accustomed tone 6(
familiar friendship. She received his salutation
with evident embarrassment ; her hand and tibi
voice trembled, and her bosom throbbed in a
tumult of anxiety and expectation. Ethelston
saw that he could not defer the promised ex-
planation ; and he commenced it with his usual
gentleness of manner, but with a Arm resolve
that he would be honest and explicit in his lan-
guage. He began by referring to his long Ql-
nes8« and, with gratitude, to her care and at-

TH£ PRAIRlfi-BIRD

46

leiiiion during i.« continuance; he assured her,
that having been told both by Madame L*Es-
trange and her brother, that she "was affianced
to Monsieur Bertrand, he had accustomed him-
self to look on her as a younger sister, and, as
such, had ventured to offer her advice and in-
struction in her studies. He knew not, he
dreamed not, that she could ever look upon
him in any other light than that of a Mentor.

Here he paused a moment, and continued in
a deeper and more earnest tone, " Nina — dear
Nina, we must be us Mentor and his pupil to
3ach other, or we must part. I will frankly
lay my heart open to you. I will conceal no-
thing ; then you will not blame me, and will, I
hope, permit me to remain your grateful friend
and brother. Nina, I am not blind either to
your beauty, or to the many, many graces of
your disposition. I do full justice to the warmth
and truth of your affections : you deserve, when
loved, to be loved with a whole heart — "

" spare this !" interrupted Nina, in a hur-
ried whisper ; " Spare this, speak of yourself !'*
"I was even about to do so,*' continued
Ethelston ; *' but, Nina, such a heart I have not
to give. For many months and years, before I
ever saw or knew you, I have loved, and still
am betrothed to another.*'

A cold shudder seemed to pass through Nina's
frame while these few words were spoken, as
if in a moment the health, the hope, the blos-
som of her youth were blighted ! Not a tear,
not even a sob gave relief to her agony ; her
bloodless lip trembled in a vain attempt to speak
she knew not what, and a burning chill sat
opoQ her heart. These words may appear to
some strange and contradictory : happy, thrice
happy ye, to whom they so appear ! If you
have never known what it is to feel at once a
scorching heat parching the tongue, and drying
op all the well-springs of life within, while a
leaden weight of ice seems to benumb the heart,
then have you never known the sharpest, ex-
treme pang^ of disappointed love !

Ethelston was prepared for some sudden and
VH>lent expression on the part of Nina, but this
death-like, motionless silence almost overpow-
ered him. He attempted, by the gentlest and
the kindest words, to arouse her from this
stupor of grief. He took her hand ; its touch
was cold. Again and again he called her name ;
bat her ear seemed insensible even to his voice.
At length, unable to bear the sight of her dis-
tress, and fearful that he might no longer re-
strain bis tongue from uttering words which
would be treason to his first and faithful love,
he rushed into the house, and hastily informing
Nina's governess that her pupil had been sud-
denly taken ill in the olive-grove, he locked
himself in his room, and gave vent to the con-
tending emotions by which he was oppressed.

It was in vain that he strove to calm himself
by the reflection that he had intentionally trans-
gressed none of the demands of truth and hon-
our; — it was in vain that he called up all the
ioBg-cberished recollections of his Lucy and his
home ; — still the image of Nina would not be
banished ; now presenting Itself as he had seen
her yesterday, in the full glow of passion, and
in the full bloom of youthful beauty, — and now,
as he bad just left her, in the deadly paleness
ad fixed apathy of despair. The terrible

thought that, whether gtiiltily or innocently, he
had been the cause of all this suffering in one
to whom he owed protection and gratitude,
wrung his heart with pain that he could not re-
press ; &nd he found relief only in falling on his
knees, and prpying to the Almighty that the
sin might hot be laid to his charge, and that
Nina's sorrow might be soothed and comforted
by Him, who is the God of consolation.

Meanwhile the governess had, with the as-
sistance of two of the negro attendants, brought
Nina into the house. The poor girl continued
in the same state of insensibility to all that was
passing around ; her eyes were open, but site
seemed to recognize no one, and a few vague
indistinct words still trembled on her lips.

The doctor was Instantly summoned, who
pronounced, as soon as he had seen his patient,
that she was in a dangerous fit, using sundry
mysterious expressions about "febrile symp-
toms," and " pressure on the brain," to which
the worthy leech added shakings of the head
yet more mysterious.

For many days her condition continued alarm-
ing ; the threatened fever came, and with it a
protracted state of delirium. During this pe-
riod Ethelston's anxiety and agitation were
extreme ; and proportionate was the relief that
he experienced, when he learned that the crisis
was past, and that the youthful strength of her
constitution promised speedy recovery.

Meanwhile he had to endure the oil- repeated
inquiries of the Governess, '♦ How he happened
to find Mademoiselle just as the fit came on!" .
and of Madame L*Estrange, " How it was pos-
sible for Nina to be attacked by so sudden an
illness, while walking in the orange-grove T*

When she was at length pronounced out of
danger, Ethelston again began to consider vari-
ous projects for his meditated escape from the
island. He had more than once held communi-
cation with his faithful Cupid on the subject,
who was ready to brave all risks in the service
of his master ; but the distance which must be
traversed, before they could expect to find a
friendly ship or coast, seemed to exclude all
reasonable hope of success.

It would be impossible to follow and pourtray
the thousand changes that came over Nma's
spirit during her recovery. She remembered
but too well the words that Ethelston had last
spoken ; at one moment she called him perfidi-
ous, ungrateful, heartless; then she chid her-
self for railing at him, and loaded his name with
every blessing, and the expression of the fondest
affection ; now she resolved that she would
never see or speak to him more; then she
thought that she must see him, if it were onl^
to show how she had conquered her weakness.
Amidst all these contending resolutions, she
worked herself into the belief that Ethelstoa
had deceived her, and that, because he thought
her a child, and did not love her, he had invent*
ed the tale of his previous engagement to lessea
her mortification. This soon became her set-
tled conviction ; and when it crossed her mind,
she would start with passion and exclaim, " Hd
shall yet love me, and me, alone !"

The only confidant of her love was a yoniig
negress who waited upon her, and who was iiy
deed so devoted to her that she would have
braved tlic Commodore's utmost wrath, or p&ti^

46

THE PRAIRIE BIRD.

led her life to execute her mistress's com-
mands.

It happened one evening that this girl, whose
name was Fanchette, went out to gather some
fruit in the orange-grove ; and while^tbus em-
ployed she heard the voice of some One speak-
ing. On drawing nearer to the spot whence the
sound proceeded, she saw £thelston sitting un-
der the deep shade of a tree, with what appear-
ed a book before him.

Knowing that Nina was still confined to her
room, he had resorted hither to consider his
schemes without interruption, and was so busi-
ly employed in comparing distances, and calcu-
lating possibilities, on the map before him,
that Fanchette easily crept to a place whence
she could, unperceived, overhear and observe
him. " 1 must and will attempt it," he mutter-
ed aloud to himself, ** we must steal a boat.
Cupid and I can manage it between us; my
duty and my love both forbid my staying longer
here ; with a fishing-boat we might reach An-
tigua or Dominica, or at all events chance to fall
in with an American or a neutral vessel. Poor
dear Nina," he added, in a lower tone, " Would
to God I had never visited this shore ! rAz>," he
continued, drawing a locket from his breast,
" this treasured remembrance of one far distant
has made me proof against thy charms, cold to
thy love, but not, as Heaven is my witness, un-
moved or insensible to thy sufferings." So say-
ing he relapsed into silent musing, and as he re-
placed the locket, Fanchette crept noiselessly
from her concealment, and ran to communicate
to her young mistress her version of what she
had seen. Being very imperfectly skilled in En-
glish, she put her own construction upon those
fe»T words which she had caught, and thought
to serve Nina best by telling her what she would
most like to hear. Thus she described to her
how Ethelston had spoken to himself over a
map ; how he had mentioned islands to which
he would sail; how he had named her name
with tenderness, and had taken something from
his vest to press it to his lips."

Poor Nina listened in a tumult of joy ; her
passionate heart would admit no doubting sug-
gestion of her reason. She was too happy to
bear even the presence of Fanchette, and re-
warding her for her good news by the present
of a beautiful shawl which she wore at the mo-
ment, pushed the delighted little negress out of
the room, and threw herself on a couch, where
she repeated a hundred times that he had been
to her orange-grove, where they had last parted,
bad named her name with tenderness, had press-
ed some token to his lips — what could that be 1
It might be a flower, a booK, anything — ^it mat-
tered not — so long as she only knew he loved
her ! Having long wept with impassioned joy,
she determined to show herself worthy of his
love, and the schemes which she formed, and
resolved to carry into effect, evinced the wild
force and energy of her romantic character.
Among her father's slaves was one who, being
a steady and skilful seaman, had the charge of
a schooner (originally an American prize) which
lay in the hartraur, and which thfi Commodore
sometimes used as a pleasure-yacht, or for short
trips to other parts of the island: this man
(whose name was Jacques) was not only a
Sreat iavoiurito with the youDg lady, but was

also smitten with the black eyes and plamp
charms of M'amselle Fanchette, who thus ey-
ercised over him a sway Uttle short of absolute.
Nina having held a conference with her abigail,
sent for Jacques, who was also admitted to a
confidential consultation, the result of which,
aAer occurrences will explaia to the reader.
When this was over, she acquired rather than
assumed a sudden composure and cheerfulness ,
the delights of a plot seemed at once to restore
her to health ; and on the following day she sent
to request that Ethelston would come to see her
in her boudoir where she received him with a
calmness and self-possession fur which he was
altogether unprepared. "Mr. Ethelston," said
she, as soon as be was seated, " I believe you
still desire to escape from your prison, and that
you are devising various plans for effecting that
object ; you will never succeed unless you call
me into your counsel."

Ethelston, though extremely surprised at the
composure of her manner and language, replied
with a smile, ** M'amselle Nina, I will not deny
that you have rightly guessed my thoughts ; but
as your father is my jailor, I did not dare to ask
your counsel in this matter."

" Well, Mr. Mentor," said the wayward girl,
" how does your wisdom propose to act without
my counseir*

*' I confess I am somewhat at a loss," said
Ethelston, good-humouredly ; " I must go either
through the air or the water, and the latter, being
my proper element, is the path which I would
rather attempt."

** And what should you think of me, if I were
to play the traitoress, and aid you in eluding the
vigilance of my father, and afford the means of
escape to so formidable an enemy 1"

Ethelston was completely puzzled by this
playful tone of banter in one whom he had last
seen under a paroxysm of passion, and in w hose
dark eye there yet lurked an expression which
he could not define ; but he resolved to continue
the conversation in the same spirit, and replied,
*' I would not blame you for this act of filial dis-
obedience, and though no longer your father's
prisoner, I would, if I escaped, ever remain his
friend."

"And would you show no gratitude to the
lady who effected your release V*

*' I owe her already more— far more, than I
can pay ; and, for this last crowning act of her
generosity and kindness, I would — "

As he hesitated, she inquired abruptly, " You
would what, Ethelston 1" For a moment she
had forgotten the part she was acting, and both
the look that accompanied these words, and the
tone in which they were pronounced, reminded
him that he stood on the brink of a volcanic crater.

** I would give her any proof of my gratitude
that she would deign to accept, yes any,'* he re-
peated earnestly, " even to life itself, knowing
that she is too noble and generous to accept
aught at my hands which faith and honour for-
bid me to offer." *

Nina turned aside for a moment, overcome
by her emotion ; but recovering herself q Jickly,
she added, in her former tone of pleasantry,
" She will not impose any hard conditions ; but
to the purpose, has vour sailor-eye noticed a
certain little schooner anchored in the harbour V*

"W

£thel8too, eagerly, ** a beau

THE PRAIRIErBIRD.

47

^M craft of about twenty tons, on the other
iideofihe bayV
"Even the same.**

** Surely I have ! She is American built, and
swims like a duck.**

«»Well then," replied Nina, "I think I shall
do no great harm in restoring her to an Ameri-
can ! How many men should you require to.
manage her T*

" I could sail her easily with one ible seaman
besides my black friend Cupid.'*

"Then,** said Nina, "I propose to lend hei
to you ; you may send her back at your conve-
nience, and I will also provide you an able sea-
man ; write me a list of the stores and articles
which you will require ifor the trip, and send it
me in an hour*s time : prepare your own bag-
gage, and be ready upon the shortest notice ; it
is now my turn to command and yours to obey.
Good-bye, Mr. Mentor.** So saying, she kissed
her hand to him and withdrew.

Ethelston rubbed his eyes as if he did not be-
lieve their evidence. " Could this merry, ready-
witted girl be the same as the Nina whom he
had seen, ten days before, heart-broken, and
unable to conceal or repress the violence of her
passion V* The longer he mused, the more was
he puzzled ; and he came at length to a conclu-
sion at which many more wise and more foolish
than himself had arrived, that a woman*s mind,
when influenced by her aflfections, is a riddle
hard to be solved. He had not, however, much
time for reflection, and being resolved at all risks
to escape from the island, he hastened to his
room, and within the hour specified by Nina,
sent her a list of the stores and provisions for
Uie voyage.

Meanwhile Fanchette had not been idle, she
bad painted to Jacques, in the liveliest colours,
the wealths, beauty, and freedom of the distant
land of Ohio, artfully mingling with this descrip
tion promises and allurements which operated
more directly ©n the feelings of her black swain,
80 that the latter, finding himself entreated by
Fanchette, and commanded by his young mis-
tress, hesitated no longer to betray his trust and
desert the Commodore.

Ethelston, having communicated the prosper-
ens state of affairs to Cupid, and desired him to
have all ready for immediate escape, hastened
to obey another summons sent to him by Nina;
he found her in a mood no less 'cheerful than
before, and although she purposely averted her
face, a smile, the meaning of which he could
not define, played round the corner of her ex-
pressive mouth. Though really glad to escape
homeward, and disposed to be grateful to Nma
for her aid, he could not help feeling angry and
vexed at the capricious eagerness with which
she busied herself in contriving the departure of
one to whom she had so lately given the strong-
est demonstration of tenderness ; and although
bis heart told him that he could not love her,
there was something in this easy and sudden
Withdrawal of her affection which wounded that
self-love from which the best of men are not al-
V>geiher free. These feelings gave an unusual
coldness and constraint to his manner, when he
inquired her farther commands.

To this question Nina replied by saying,
**Then, Mr. Ethelston, you are quite resolved
to leave us, and to risk all the chances and per-
ils oft»ij vovaseV'

" Quite,** he replied : ** it is my wish, my du
ty, and my firm determination ; and I entered
the room,** he added almost in a tone of reproof,
" desirous of repeating to you my thanks ^r
your kind assistance."

Nina*s countenance changed ; hut still avert-
ing it from Ethelston, she continued in a lower
voice, "And do you leave us without pa*n
without regret.**

There was a tremor, a natural feeling ir the
tone in which she uttered these few words, ihat
recalled to his mind all that he had seen her
suffer, and drove from it the harsh thoughts
which he had begun to entertain, and he an-
swered in a voice from which his self-command
could not banish all traces of emotion, " Dear
Nina, I shall leave you with regret that would
amount to misery, if I thought that my visit had
brought any permanent unhappiness into this
house. I desire to leave you as a Mentor should
leave a beloved pupil — as a brother leaves a
sister : with a full hope that when I am gona
you will fulfil your parents* wishes, your own
auspicious destinies, and that, afler years and
years of happiness among those whom Fate
has decreed to be the companions of your life,
you will look back upon me as upon a faithful
adviser of your youth, — an affectionate friend
who-

i»

Nina's nerves were not strung for the part
she had undertaken ; gradually her countenance
had grown pale as marble; a choking sensa-
tion oppressed her throat, and she sunk in a
chair, sobbing, rather than uttering, the word
"Water.** It was fortunately at hand, and
having placed it in a glass by her side, Ethel-
ston retired to the window to conceal his own
emotion, and to allow time for that of Nina to
subside.

After a few minutes she recovered her self-
possession : and although still deadly pale, her
voice was distinct and firm, as she said, " Ethel-
ston, I am ashamed of this weakness ; but it is
over : we will not speak of the past, and will
leave to fate the future. Now listen to me :
all the arrangements for your departure will be
complete by to-morrow evening. At an hour
before midnight a small boat, with one man, will
be at the Quai du Marche, below the place St.
Louis. It is far from the fort, and there is no
sentry near the spot ; you can then row to the
vessel and depart. But is it not too dangerousl**
she added ; " Can you risk it 1 for the wind
whistles terribly, and I fear the approach of a
hurricane !'*

Eihelston*s eye brightened as he replied, " A
rough night is the fairest for the purpose, Nina."

" Be it so," she replied. " Now, in return
for all that I have done for you, there is only
one favour I have to ask at year hands.**

" Name it," said Ethelston, eagerly.

"There is," she continued, "a poor sick
youth in the town, the child of respectable pa-
rents in New Orleans; he desires to go home,
if it be only to die there ; and a nurse will take
care of him on the passage if you will let him go
with you V*

" Assuredly I will,** said Ethelston ; •« and
will take as much care of him as if he were my
brother.**

" Nay,*' said Nina, " they tell me he is order-
ed to be perfectly quiet, and no one attends him

48

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

bat the narse ; neither will he give any trouble,
as the coxswain says there is a small cabin
where he can remain alone and undisturbed/* .

" You may depend," sard Etheiston, *♦ that all
your orders about him shall be faithfully per-
formed ; and I will see, if I live, that he reach-
es his home in safety."

•' He and his nurse will be on board befor'^
you," said Nina : ** and as soon as you reach
the vessel, you have nothing to do but to escape
as quick as you can. Now I must bid you
farewell ! I may not have spirits to see you
again 1" She held out her hand to him ; it was
cold as ice ; her face was still half-averted, and
her whole frame trembled violently.

Ethelston took the offered hand, and pressed
it to his lips, saying, ** A thousand, thousand
thanks for all your kindness ! If I reach home
alive I will make your honoured father ample
amends for the thefl of his schooner ; and jf ever
you have an opportunity to let me know that
YOU are well and happy, do hot forget that such
news will always gladden my heart," He
turned to look at her ias he went ; he doubted
whether the cold rigid apathy of her form and
countenance was that of despair or of indiffer-
ence ; but he dared not trust himself longer in
bet presence ; and as he left the room she sunk
on the chair against which she had been leaning
for support.

When Ethelston found himself alone, he col-
lected his thoughts, and endeavoured in vain
to account for the strange deportment of Nina
in bidding him farewell. The coolness of her
manner, the abrupt brevity of her parting ad-
dress, had surprised him ; and yet the tremor,
the emotion, amounting almost to fainting, the
forced tone of voice in which she had spoken,
all forbad him to hope that she had overcome
her unhappy passion ; he was grieved that be
had scarcely parted from her in kindness, and
the pity with which he regarded her was, for
the moment, almost akin to love^

Shaking off this temporary weakness, he em-
ployed himself forthwith in the preparations for
his departure ; among the first of which was a
letter, which he wrote to Captain L'Estrange,
and left upon his table. On the following day
he never once saw Nina ; but he heard from
one of the slaves that she was confined to her
room by severe beadach.

The wind blew with unabated force, the even-
ing was dark and lowering, as, at the appointed
hour, Ethelston, accompanied by his faithful
Cupid, left the house with noiseless step. They
reached the boat without obstruction ; pushed
off, and in ten minntes were safe on deck ; the
coxswain whispered that all was ready ; the
boat was hoisted up, the anchor weighed, and
the schooner was soon dashing the foam from
her bows on the open sea.

CHAPTER XV.

What took place at Mooshanne during the stay of Ethel-
■ton In Guadaioiipe.— Departure of Reginald for the
iar-weet.

Whilb the events ^-elated in the last two
chapters occurred at Guadaloupe, Reginald was
busily employed at Mooshannt in completing
Ihe preparations for his projected visit to the

Delawares, in the Far-west ; he bad (by pntli!i|
in practice the instructions given him by War-
Eagle respecting Nekimi) at length succeeded
in gaining that noble animaPs affection ; he
neighed at Reginald's approach, knew and
obeyed his voice, fed from his band, arMl re-
ceived and returned his caresses, as he had
before done those of his Indian master. Jt was
when mounted on Nekimi that our hero foand
his spirit most exulting and buoyant ; he gave
him the rein on the broadest of the neigh boar--
ing prairies, and loved to feel the springy Meet-
neds and untiring muscles of this child of tfa«
western desert. Sometimes, after a gallop 6C
many miles, he would leap from the saddte, to
look with pride ai»d pleasure on the spirited
eye, the full veins, the expanded nostril of h»
favourite ; at other times he would ride him
slowly through the tnost tangled and difficult
ground, admirfng the instinctive and unerring
sagacity with which he picked bis way.

Among Reginald's other accomplishments,
he had learned in Germany to play not unskil'
fully on the horn ; and constantly carrying his
bugle across his shoulders, Nekimi grew so ac^
customed to the sound, that he would come to
it from any distance within hearing of its call.
It appeared to Reginald so probable that the
bugle might render him good service on hris
summer excursion, that he not only practised
his horse to it, but he prevailed on Baptiste to
learn his various signals, and even to reply on
another horn to some of the simplest of them.
The honest guide's first attempts to sound the
bugle were ludicrous in the extreme; but he
good-humouredly persevered, until Reginald
and he could, from a considerable distan<^,
exchange many useful signals agreed upon tfe-
tween them, and of course intelligible to none
but themselves. Among these were the follow-
ing: " Beware !" — "Come to me,"—" Be still, *♦
— "Bring my horse," and one or two others foi
hunting purposes, such as "A bear!" — "Buffk-
lo!" To these they added a reply, which Was
always to signify "I understand.*' But if the
party called was prevented from obeying, this
signal was to be varied accordingly.

At the same time Reginald did not omit to
learn from the guide a number of Delaware
Words and phrases, in order that when he ar-
rived among bis new friends he might not be
altogether excluded from communication with
such of them as should not understand Eng-
lish ; in these preparations, and occasional
hunts in company with Baptiste, his time would
have glided on agreeably enough, had he not
observed with anxiety the settled melancholy
that was gradually creeping over his sister Lu-
cy ; it was in vain that he strove to comfort hex
by reminding her of the thousand trifling acci-
dents that might have detained Ethelston in
the West Indies, and have prevented his letters
from reaching home. She smiled upon him
kindly for his well-meant endeavours, and not
only abstained from all complaint, but tried to
take her part in conversation; yet he saw
plainly that her cheerfulness was forced, and
that secret sorrow was at her heart. She em-
ployed herself assiduously in tending her moth-
er, whose health ha4 of late become exceed-
ingly precarious, and who was almost always
confined to her apartments. Lucy worked by

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

4ft

her side, eonTersed with her. read to her, and
did all in her power to bide from her the grief
that possessed her own bosom. Reginald
marked the struggle, which strengthened, if
possible, the lore that he had always felt for his
ocemplary and affectionate sister.

One day he was sittine with her in the bou*
doir, which commanded, as we have before
observed, a view of the approach to the house,
where they saw a horseman coming at full
qieed^ As he drew near, he seemed to be a
middle-aged man, wearing a broad-brimmed
bat, a coarse over-coat, and loose trowsers ;
"bis knees were fiigh op on the saddle, and he
rode in so careless and reckless a manner, that
it was marvellous how the uncouth rider could
remain on his horse in a gallop. Reginald
threw open the window ; and as the strange-
looking figure caught a sight of him, the steed
was urged yet faster, and the broad-brimmed
hat was Waved in token of recognition.

*' Now Heaven be praised !" exclaimed Regi-
nald aloud; **'tis Gregson, the mate!" He
turned towards his sister: the blood had fled
from her cheeks and lip, her hands were clasped
together, and she whispered in a voice scarcely
articulate, " Heaven be merciful !"

"Nay, Lucy," said her sanguine brother,
"why this grief 1 are yoa not glad that the
Pride is returned V*

"Ob, Reginald !" said Lucy, looking on him
reproachfully through the tears which now
streamed from her eyes. '* Think you that if
hf had been alive and well, he would have al-
lowed another to come here before him ! Go
and speak to the man — I cannot see him — ^you
vill return and tell me all."

Reginald felt the reproof, and kissing her af-
iBctionately, hastened from the room.

Who shall attempt to lifl the veil from Lucy's
heart during the suspense of the succeeding
minutes 1 It is fortunate for human nature,
that at such a moment the mind is too confused
to be conscious of its own sufferings ; the min-
gled emotions of hope and fear, the half- breathed
prayer,— the irresistible desire to learn, con-
tending with the dread of more assured misery,
—all these unite in producing that agony of
suspense which it is impossible to describe in
words, and of which the mind of the sufferer
can scarcely realize afterwards a distinct im-
pression.

AAer a short absence, Reginald returned, and
said to his sister, "Lucy, Kthelston is not here,
but he is alive and safe."

She hid her face in her brother's breast, and
fi>und relief in a flood of grateful tears. As soon
as Lucy had recovered her composure, her
brother informed her of Ethelston's captivity^
and of the serious, though not dangerous
wounds, that he had received ; but he mingled
with the narration such warm praises of his
ftiend's heroic defence of the brig, and so many
sanguine assurances of his spe^y release and
return, that her fears and her anxiety were for
a time absorbed in the glow of pride with which
ake listened to the praises of her lover's con-
dact, and in the anticipation of soon having his
adventures from his own lips. The faithful
mate received a kind welcome from the Colo-
iMl, and though the latter had sustained a severe
ia ihe brig» he viewed it as a misfortune
D

for which no one coold be blamed ; and directed
all his anxiety and his inquiries to the condition
of Ethelston, whom he loved as his own son.

" Depend on't, Colonel," said Gregson, " he'll
come to no harm where he is, for L^Estrange
is a fine old fellow, and Master Ethelston saved
his son's neck from my cutlass. I was cuttfn*
at him in downright airnest, for my dander wa«
up, and you know, Colonel, a man a'nt particu-
lar nice in a deck scurry like that !"

" And what made him so anxious to save the
youngster 1" inquired the Colonel.

" Why, I s*pose he thought the day was our
own, and the lieutenant too smart a lad to be
roughly handled for naught ; but the young mad-
cap put a pistol-ball into his arm by way of
thanks."

" Well, and did Ethelston still protect him?^

" Ay, sir, all the same. Pve served with a
number of captains o' one^ sort or other, smug-
glers, and slave^sruizers, and old Burt, that the
Cuba pirates used to called Gunpowder Jack,
but I will say I never saw a better man than
Ethelston step a deck, whether it's * up stick and
make sail,' or a heavy gale on a lee-shore, or a
game at long bowls, or a hammer-away flght at
yard-arm to yard-arm, it's all one to our skip-
per, he's just as cool and seems as well pleas-
ed, as when it's a free breeze, a clear sea, and
Black Cupid has piped to dinner."

" He is a gallant young fellow," said the Col-
onel, brushing a little moisture from the comer
of his eye ; " and we will immediately take all
possible measures for his liberation, both by
applying, through Congress, for his exchange,
and by communicating with the French agents
at New Orleans."

The conversation was protracted for some
time, and after its termination, the mate having
satisfied himself that the Mooshanne cider had
lost none of its flavour, and that Monsieur Per-
rot's flask contained genuine cognac, returned
in high spirits to Marietta.

The preparations for R«>gmald'8 expedition
now went briskly forward, as the business
which the Colonel wished him to transact with
the trading companies, on the Mississippi did
not admit of delay. A large canoe was fitted
out at Marietta, capable of containing sixteen or
eighteen persons, and possessing suflScient
stowage for the provisions and goods required ;
the charge of it was given to an exilerienced
Voyageur, who had more than once accompa-
nied Baptiste in his excursions to the Upper
Mississippi and the Great Lakes ; he was a
steady determined man, on whose fidelity rell
ance might be placed, and well calculated, from
the firmness of his character, to keep in order
the rough and sturdy fellows who formed his
crew. Bom and pred in that wild border re-
gion which now forms the State of Michigan,
the woods, rapids, and lakes had been familiar
to him from his childhood ; unlike most of his
tribe, he was singularly grave and tacitura ; he
always wore a bearskin cap, and whether in Iks
bateau, his canoe, or his log-hut, his bed was ol
the same material, so that he was known only
by the name of " Bearskin ;" his paternal ap-
pellation, whatever it might have been original-
ly, having become altogether obsolete and un-
known. His crew consisted of four stout fel-
lows, who, like most of the Indian borderers

60

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

were as skilfal in the use of the paddle on the
river as in that of the riHe oi the land. Among
them was the gigantic form of Mike Smith, be-
fore mentioned in this narrative ; all these were
engaged by the Colonel, at a liberal salary, for
six months, which was to be proportionately
increased if they were detained in his service
for a longer period. It was also settled that
Monsieur Gustavo Perrot should take his pas-
sage in the canoe ; and to his care were en-
trusted the Indian presents^ clothes, and other
articles, which were his master's own property.
Reginald had resolved to cross the Territory on
horseback, accompanied by Baptiste, and he
therefore meant to carry with him only such
arms, and other articles, as were likely to be
required on the journey.

The orders given to Bearskin were to make
the best of his way, to St. Louis, and having
delivered the letters with which he was en-
trusted, there to await Reginald's arrival. The
cargo of the canoe consisted chiefly (with the
exception of a full supply of arms and provi-
sions) of powder, cutlery, clothes of various
colours, paints, mirrors, and a great variety of
beads. Her equipment was soon completed,
and she left Marietta amid the cheers of the
crowd assembled on the wooden pier in front of
David Muir's store, the latter observing to our
old friend the mate, who stood at his elbow,
"I'm thinking, Maister Gregson, they chaps
will hae enough o' the red-skin deevils, an' fur-
kuntm' amongst a wheen wild trappers and daft
neer-do-weels ayont the Mississippi ! Weel a
weel, ye maun just step ben and tak' a stoup o*
cognac to the success o' Bearskin and his crew."

Although there was much in the merchant's
harangue that was like Greek or Hebrew to the
mate, the closing invitation being adapted as
well to his comprehension as to his inclination,
he expressed a brief but cheerful acquiescence,
and the worthy couple entered the house to-
gether. As soon as they were seated in the
parlour, Jessie placed on the table some excel-
lent corn-cakes and cheese, together with the
before-mentioned cognac, and busied herself
with even more than her wonted alacrity, to
offer these good things to the father of the
youth towards whom she entertained, as we
have said, a secret but very decided partiali-
ty. She carried her hospitality so far as to
bring a bottle of old madeira from David's fa-
vourite corner in the cellar, which she decanted
with great dexterity, and placed before the mate.
The jolly tar complimented the merchant, afler
his own blunt fashion, both on the excellence
of his liquor, and the attractions of his daugh-
ter, saying, in reference to the latter, " I can
tell you. Master Muir, that I hold Jessie to be
as handsome and as handy a lass as any in the
territory. If I were twenty years younger, I
should be very apt to clap on ^ sail, and try to
make a prize of her !"

At this moment his son entered from the
store, under the pretext of speaking to David
about the sale of some goods, but with the ob-
ject of being for a few minutes near to Jessie.
He had never spoken to her of love, being
afraid that his suit would certainly be rejected
by her parents, who, from their reputed wealth,
would doubtless expect to marry their daugh-
ter to one of the principal parsonages in the

commonwealth of Marietta. As he entererf,
his eyes encountered those of Jessie, who was
still blushing frOm the effect of the compliment
paid to her by his father.

** Harry, my boy," shouted the mate, " you
are just come in time ; I have filled a glass of
David's prime 84, and you must give me a toast !
Now, my lad, speak up ; heave a-head !"

" Father, I am ashamed of you !" replied the
youth, colouring. " How can you ask for ano-
ther toast when Miss Jessie's standing at your
elbow V*

" The boy's right," said the sailor, *' and he
shall drink it, too ; shan't he David V

" I'm thinking y'U no need to ask him twice.
Jessie, hand the lad a glass !"
' At her father's bidding she brought another
glass from the copbpard ; and in giving it to
young Gregson, one or other of them was so
awkward, that instead of it he took her hand in
his ; and although he relinquished it immedi-
ately, there was a pressure, unconscious per-
haps, but so distinctly perceptil)le to Jessie,
that she blushed still deeper, and felt almost re-
lieved by hearing her name called from the
store in the loudest key of her mother's shrill
voice, while it was repeated yet more loudly by
the honest mate, who gave the toast as she left
the room, " Here's Jessie Muir, — a long life and
a happy one to her !"

Henry Gregson drank the madeira, but he
scarcely knew whether it was sweet or sour,
for his blood still danced with the touch of Jes-
sie's hand ; and setting down the glass, he re-
turned abruptly to the store, whether in the
hope of stealing another look at her, or to en-
joy his own reflections on the last few minutes,
the reader may determine for himself.

The mate and the merchant continued their
sitting until the bottle of madeira was empty,
and the flask of cogniac was considerably dii-
minished ; and although their conversation was
doubtless highly interesting, and worthy of being
listened to with the greatest attention, yet, as it
did not bear immediately upon the events of our
narrative, we will leave it unrecorded, among
the many other valuable treasures of a similar
kind, which are suffered day by day to sink into
oblivion.

M. Perrot being now fairly under way, and
having taken with him all the articles required
by Reginald for his Indian expedition, our hero
resolved no longer to delay his own departure,
being about to encounter a very tedious land
journey before he could reach St. Louis, and
being also desirous of performing it by easy
marches, in order that Nekimi might arrive at
the Osage hunting-camp fresh, and ready for
any of those emergencies in which success
might depend upon his strength and swiftness.
Baptiste was now quite in his element ; and an
early day being fixed for their departure, he pack-
ed the few clothes and provisions which they
were likely to require on the journey, in two
capacious leather bags, which were to be flung
across the rough hardy nag which had accom-
panied him on more than one distant expedition,
and he was soon able to announce to Keginakl
that he was ready to start at an hour's notice

The parting of our hero from his family was
somewhat trying to his firmness ; for poor Lucy
whose nerves were much affected by hex omm

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

51

•orrows, could not control her grief; Aunt Mary
bIso shed tears, while, mingled with her repeat-
ed blessings and excellent counsel, she gave
Him several infallible recipes for the cure of cuts,
bruises, and the bite of rattle-snakes. The Col-
•nel squeezed his hand with concealed emotion,
ind bade him remember those whom he left be-
bJRd, and not incur any foolish risk in the pur-
suit of amusement, or in the excitement of In-
dian adventure. But it was in parting with his
mother that bis feelings underwent the severest
trial, for her health had long been gradually de-
clining ; and although she evinced the resigned
composure which marked her gentle uncomplain-
ing character^ there was a deep solemnity in her
farewell benediction, arising from a presentiment
that they might not meet again on this side of
the grave. It required all the beauty of the
scenery through which he passed, and all the
constitutional buoyancy of his spirits, to enable
Reginald to shake ofT the sadness which crept
over him, when he caught from a rising ground
the last glimpse of Moosbanne ; but tbe fresh
elasticity of youth e^ long prevailed, and he ran
his fingers through the glossy mane that hung
over Nekimi's arching crest, anticipating with
pleasure the wild adventures by flood and field
that they would share together.

Reginald wore the deer-skin hunting-suit that
we have before described ; his rifle he had sent
with the canoe, the bugle was slung across his
shoulders, a brace of horse-pistols were in the
bolsters, and a hunting knife hanging at his gir-
dle completed his equipment. The sturdy guide
was more heavily armed ; for besides his long
rifle, which he never quitted, a knife hung on
one side of his belt, and at the other was slung
the huge axe which had procured him the name
by which he was known among some of the
tribes ; but in spite of these accoutrements, and
of the saddle-bags before-mentioned, his hardy
nag paced along with an enduring vigour that
would hardly have been expected from one of
so coarse and unpromising an exterior ; some-
times their way lay through the vast prairies
which were still found in the states Indiana and
Illinois ; at others among dense woods and rich
valleys, through which flowed the various tribu-
taries that swell Ohio's mighty stream, the guide
losing no opportunity of explaining to Reginald
as they went, all the signs and secret indications
of Indian or border woodcraft that occurred.
They met with abundance of deer, and at night
they made their fire ; and having finished their
venison supper, camped nnder the shelter of
some ancient oak or sycamore. Thus Reginald's
hardy frame became on this preluninary journey
more inured to the exposure that he would have
to undergo among the Osages and Delawares
of the Far- west ; they fell in now and then with
straggling bands of hunters and of friendly In-
dians, but with no adventures worthy of record ;
and thus, after a steady march of twenty days,
they reached the banks of the Mississippi, and
srossed in the ferry to St. Louis.

CHAPTER XVI.

Hm Eacape of Ethelrtcm from Gnadaloupe, and the Coiim*
qnencei which ensued from that Bzpedition.

Wfi left EtheUton on the deck of the litUe

schooner, which was bearing him rapioly from
the shores of Guadaloupe, under the influence of
an easterly wind, so strong that all his attention
was absorbed in the management of the vesseL
During the night the gale increased, and blew
with unabated violence for forty-eight hours,
** The Sea-gull," for so she was called, scndded
lightly before it; and on the third da^ Ethel-
sion had made by his log upwards of hve hun-
dred miles of westerly course.

Having only two hands on board, and :he
weather being so uncommonly boisterous, be
had been kept in constant employment, and had
only been able to snatch a few brief intervals fi^r
sleep and refreshment; he found Jacques tbe
coxswain an active able seaman, but extremely
silent and reserved, obeying exactly the orders
he received, but scarcely uttering a word even to
Cupid : it was he alone who attended upon the
invalia and the nurse in the after cabin ; and the
weather having now moderated, Ethelston asked
how the youth had borne the pitching and toss-
ing of the vessel during the late gale. Jacques
replied, that he was not worse, and seemed nor.
to suffer from the sea. The captain was satis-
fied, and retired to his cabin ; he had not been
there long, before Cupid entered ; and carefully
shutting the door behind him, stood before his
master with a peculiar expression of counte-
nance, which tbe latter well knew to intimate
some unexpected intelligence.

«• Well, Cupid, what is it V said Ethelston, « is
there a suspicious sail in sight V*

" Very suspicious, Massa Ethelston," replied
the Black, grinning and lowering his voice tc a
whisper, "and suspicious goods aboard the
schooner."

" What do you mean, Cupid V*

" There is some trick aboard. I not like that
Jacques that never speak, and I not like that
sick boy and his nurse, that nobody never see."

** But why should you be angry, Cupid, with
the poor boy because he is sick 1 I have prom-
ised to deliver him safe to bis friends at New
Orleans, and I hope soon, with this breeze, to
perform my promise."

** Massa Ethelston, I believe it all one damn
trick — I not believe there is one sick boy ; when
Jacques come in and go out of that cabin he
creep, and look, and listen, and watch like Vne
Colonel's grey cat at the cheese cupboard; Cu-
pid no pretend to much leamin', but he no be
made fool of by damn French ni^er, and he no
tell Massa Ethelston a lie." So saying, the
African withdrew as quietly as he had entered.

After musing some time on his follower's com-
munication and suspicions, he resolved to un-
ravel whatever mystery might be attached to the
matter, by visiting the invalid immediately. On
his knocking gently at the door for admission^
he was answered from within by the nurse that
her patient was asleep, and ought not now to be
disturbed; but being determined not to allo\t
another day to pass in uncertainty, he went on
deck, and summoning Jacques, told him to go
down presently and inform the nurse that in the
evening, as soon as her patient was awake, he
should pay him a visit.

Jacques received this mandate with some cob-
fosion, and began to stammer something abcui
the "poor boy not being disturbed."

" Harkee, sir," said Ethelston sternly; " I am
captain on boaM this craft, and will be obeyed ;
as you go into that cabin three or four time.^ a
day to attend upon the invatid, metliinks my

THE PRAlRi£-BlRs9

presence cannot be so dangerous. I will take
the risk upon mysel£: you hear my orders, sir,
and they are not to be trifled with !"

Jacques disappeared, and Ethelston remained
pacing the deck. In about half an hour the la^
ter came up to him, and said, " The young gen-
tleman will receive the captain at sundown."

" Very well," replied Ethelston, and continued
to pace the deck, revolving in his mind all the
strange events of the last month, — his illness, the
unfortunate passion of Nina, and her strange be-
haviour wheA he bade her farewell

At the appointed time he went down, and
ap^ain knocked at the side cabin door for ad^iis-
sion i it was opened by the nurse, apparently a
jTOung woman of colour, who whispered to him
in French, " Go in, sir, and speak gently to him,
for he is very delicate." So saying she left the
cabin, and closed the door behind her.

Ethelston approached the sofa, on which the
grey evening light permitted him to see a slight
figure, covered with a mantle ; and addressing
the invalid kindly, he said, " I fear, young sir,
you must have suffered much during the gale."

"No, I thank you," was the replv, but so
faintly uttered as to be scarcely audible.

"Can I do anything to make your stay on
board more comfortable 1"

" Yes," was the whispered answer.

" Then tell me what, or how ; as I have prom-
ised to do all in my power to make the voyage
agreeable to you."

After a pause of a minute, during which the
invalid seemed struggling with repressed emo-
tion, the mantle was suddenly thrown aside, the
recumbent figure sprang from the sofa, and Nina
stood before him ! " Yes," she said, " you have
promised — and my ears drank in the promise —
tor it, and for you I have abandoned home, coun-
try, kindred, — what do I say,— I have abandoned
nothing; for you are to me home, kindred, coun-
try, everything ! Dear, dear Ethelston ! this mo-
ment repays me for all I have suffered." As she
spoke thus, she threw her arms round his neck^
and hid her blushing face upon his breast.

Ethelston was so completely taken by sur-
prise, that for a moment he could not utter a syl-
lable. Mistaking his silence for a full partici-
pation in her own impassioned feelings, and
looking up in his face, her eyes beaming with
undisguised affection, and her dark tresses fall-
ing carelessly over her beautiful neck, she con-
tinued, " Oh speak— speak one gentle word, —
nay, rather break not this delicious silence, and
let me dream here for ever."

If Ethelston was for a moment stupified, partly
by surprise and partly by the effect of her sur-
passing loveliness, it was btU for a moment.
His virtue, pride, and honour were aroused, and
the suggestions of passion found no entrance to
his heart. Firmly, but ouietly replacing her on
the sofa she had quitted, he said, in a voice more
stern than he had ever before used when ad-
dressing her, " Nina, you have grieved me more
than I can express ; you have persisted in seek-
ing a heart which I frankly told you was not
zoine to give ; I see no longer in you the Nina
whom I first knew in Guadaloupe, gentle, affec-
tionate, and docile — but a wild, headstrong girl,
pursuing a wayward fancy, regardless of truth,
and of that maidenly reserve, which is wom-
an's sweetest charm. Not only have you thus
hurt my feelings, but you have brought a stain
upon my honour,— nay, interrupt ihe not," he
aodedi seeing that she waa about to speak; " for

I must tell yon the truth, and you must leam to
bear it, even though it may sound harsh to youx
ears. I repeat, you have brought a stain upon
mj honour, — for what will your respected father
thihk of the man whom he received wounded, suf-
fering, and a prisoner 1 whom he cheilshed with
hospitable kindness, and who now requites all his
benefits by stealing from his roof the daughter of
his love, the ornament and blessing of his home 1
Nina, I did not think that you would bring this
disgrace and Jiumiliation upon my name I I
have now a sacred and a painful duty before
me, and I will see you no more until I have re-
stored you to the arms of an offended father. I
hope he will for&^ive you, as I do, for the wronp
that you have done to both of us. Farewell,
Nina»" With these words, <spoken in a voice
trembling with contending emotions, he turned
and lefl tlie cabin.

Reader, have you ever dwelt in Sicily, or in
any other southern island of volcanic forma-
tion 1 If so, you may have seen a verdant spot
near the base of the mountain, where the flowers
and the herbage were smiling in the fresh beau-
ty of summer, where the lazuriant vine mingled
her tendrils with the spreading branches of the
elm, where the air was loaded with fragrance,
and the ear was refreshed by the hum of bees
and the murmur of a rippling stream, — on a sud-
den, the slumbering mountain-furnace is aroused
—the sulphurous crater pours forth its fiyery del«
uge, and in a moment the spot so lately teeming
with life, fertility, and fragrance, is become the
arid, barren abode of desolation. If, reader, you
have seen this fearful change on the face of na-
ture, or if you can place it vividly before your
imagination, then may you conceive the state
of Nina*s mind, when her long-cherished love
was thus abruptly and finally rejected by th«
man for whom she had sacrificed her home, hei
parents, and her pride I It is impossible for Ian*
guage to portray an agony such as that by which
all the faculties of her soul and body seemed
absorbed and benumbed; she neither spcke, noT
wept, nor gave any outward sign of suffering,
but with bloodless and silent lips, sat gazing on
vacancy.

Fanchette returned, and looked on her young
mistress with fear and dread. She could neither
elicit a word in reply, nor the slightest indica-
tion of her repeated entreaties being understood.
Nina sufferea her hands to be chafed, her tern-

Eles to be bathed, and at length broke into a loud
ysteric laugh, that rang through the adjoining
cabin, and sent a thrill to the hcan of Ethelston
Springing on deck, he ordered Jacques to go b»*
low, and aid Fanchette in attending on hei
young lady, and then, with folded arms, he lean-
ed over the low bulwark, and sal meditating iXk
deep silence on the events of the day.

The moon had risen, and her beams silvered
the waves through which the schooner was cut-
ting her way; scarcely a fleeting cloud obscured
the hrigbmess of the sky, and all nature seemed
hushed in the calm and peaceful repose of night.
How different from the fearful storm now raging
in the bosom of the young girl fVom whcm he
was divided only by a few inches of plank ! He
shuddered when that thought arose, nut his con-
science told him that be was acting aright, and
indulging in the reverie that possessed him, he
saw a distant figure in the glimmering moonlight
which, as it drew near, grew more and :core dis
tinct, till it wore the form, the features, and the
appioying smile of his Lucy I Confirmed an4

i

THfi PRAIRIE-BIRD.

6S

\

[

^trengtheficd in his resolutions, he started from
his seat, and bade the astonished Cupid, who
was now at the helm, to prepare to go about,
and stand to the eastward ; Jacques was called
from below, the order was repeated in a sterner
voice, the sails were trimmed, and in a few min-
utes the schooner was close hauled and laying
her course, as near as the wind would permit,
for Guadaloupe.

While these events were passing on board the
Seagull, Captain L'Estrange had returned in the
frigate to Point k Pitre. His grief and anger
may be better imagined than described when he
learned the flight of his daughter and of his pris-
oner, together with the loss of his yacht and two
of his slaves.

Concluding that the fugitives would make for
New Orleans, he dispatched the Hirondelle im-
mediately in pursuit, with orders to discover
them if possible, and to bring them back by
litratagem or force. HetalsO wrote to Colonel
Brancbn, painting in the blackest colours the
treachery and ingratitude of Ethelston, and call-
ing upon him, as a man of honour, to disown
and punish the perpetrator of such an outrage on
the laws of hospitality.

Meanwhile the latter was straining eveiy nerve
to reach again the island from which he had so
lately escaped. In this object he was hindered,
not only by bafSing winds, but bv th6 obstinacy
of Jacques, who, justly fearing the wrath of his
late master, practised every manoeuvre to frus-
trate Ethelston*s design. But the latter was on
his guard ; and unless he was himself on deck,
never trusted the helm in the coxswain's hands.
He learned from Fanchette, that Nina was in
>i high fever and quite delirious; but though he
Qquired constantly aAer her, and ordered every
mention to be paid to her that was within his
lower, he adhered firmly to the resolution that
\e had formed of never entering her cabin.

AAer a few days' sailing to the eastward, when
£thelston calculated that he should not now be
At a great distance from Guadaloupe, be fell in
with a vessel, which proved to be the Hirondelle.
The Seagull was immediately recognised ; and
the weather being fair, the lieutenant and eight
men came on board. The French officer was
10 sooner on the deck, than he ordered his men
'o seize and secure Ethelston, and to [dace the
wo blacks in irons.

It was in vain that Ethelston indignantly re-
monstrated against such harsh and undeserved
irea tmen t. The officer wou Id listen to no expTa-
'lation; and without deigning a reply, ordered
Vis men to carry their prisoners on board the
Hirondelle.

On reaching Point k Pitre, they were all placed
tn separate places of confinement ; and Nina was,
aoi without much risk and difficulty, conveyed
o her former apartment in her father's house.
The deliriam of fever seemed to have perma-
Aently afi'ected the poor girl's brain. She sang
wild snatches of songs, and told those about her
^at her lover was often with her, but that he was
.nvisible. .Sometimes she fancied herself on
Doard a ship, and asked them which way the
wind b^ew, and whether they were near the
shoi«. Then she would ask for a guitar, and
tell them that she was a mermaid, and would
ling them songs that the fishes loved to hear.

The distraoted father often sat and listened to
these incoherent ravings, until he left the room
in an agony not to be described ; and when alone,
rented the most fearful imprecatk>ii« on the snp-

posea treachery and ingratitude of Ethelston.
He could not bring himself to see the latter; for,
said he, " I must kill him, if I set eyes on his
hateful person :" but he one day wrote the fol*
lowing lines, which he desired to be delivered to
his prisoner :

^* A FATHER, whose indignation is yet greater
than his agony, desires to know what plea you
can urge in extenuation of the odious crimet
laid to your charge : — the deliberate theft of his
slaves and ^acht, and the abduction and ruin of
his child, m recompense for misplaced tmsi^
kindness, and hospitality V*

Poor Ethelston, in the gloomy solitude of the
narrow chamber where he was confined, read
and re-read the above lines many times before
he would trust himself to reply to them. He feh
for the misery of L'Estrange, and he was too
proud and too generous to exculpate himself bv
the narration of Nina's conduct ; nay, although
he knew that ^ desiring L'fistraiige to exam*
ine separately Fanchette and Jacques, his own
innocence, and the deceit practised upon him,
wouM be brought to light, he could not bring
himseif to forget that delicacy which Nma had
herself forgotten; nor add, to clear himself, one
mite to the heavy weight of visitation that had
already fallen upon her. He contented himself
with sending the following answer:

" Sir,
*' Your words, though harsh, would be more
than merited by the crimes of which you believe
me guilty. There is a Being above, who reads
the heart, and will judge the conduct of us all.
If I am guilty of the crimes imputed to me. His
vengeance will inflict on me, through the stings
of conscience, punishment more terrible even
than the wrath of a justly-offended father could
desire for the destroyer of his child. If I am not
guilty, 3He, in His own good time, will make it
known, and will add to your other heavy sor-
rows, regret for having unjustly charged, with
such base ingratitude,

"Your servant and prisoner,

** E. Ethelston."

On receiving the above letter, which seemed
dictated by a calm consciousness of rectitudci
L'Estrange's belief of his prisoner's euilt was for
a moment staggered ; and had he bethought him*
self of cross-examining the other partners in thr
escape, he would doubtless have arrived at thr
truth; but his feelings were too violently excited
to permit the exercise of his reason ; and tearing
the note to pieces, he stamped upon it, exclaim*
ing, in a paroxysm of rage, '< Dissembling hypo-
crite I does he think to cozen me with words, as
he has poisoned poor Nina's peace V

Her disorder now assumed a difl^erent charac-
ter. The excitement of deliriam ceased, and was
succeeded by a feebleness and gradual wasting,
which baffled all the resources of medicine; and
such was the apathy and stupor that clouded
her faculties, that even her father could scarcely
tell whether she knew him or not. In this state
she continued for several days; and the physi-
cian at length informed L'Estrange that he must
prepare himself for the worst, and that all hope
of recovery was gone.

Madame L'Estrange had, under the pressure
of anxiety, forgotten her habitual listlessnesSi
and watched by her daughter's couch with a
mother's unwearied solicitude ; on the night sue*
ceeding the above sad announcement, Nina sunk
into a quiet sleep, which gave some hope to her

54

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

fanguine parents, and induced them also to per-
mit themselves a few hoars' repose.

In the mommg she awoke ; her eye no longer
dwelt on Facancy; a slight flush was visible on
her tiansparent cheek, and she called her father,
in a voice ^eUe, indeed, but clear and distinct.
Who shall paint the rapture with which he hailed
^iie returning dawn of reason and of hope 1 But
his joy was of brief durai m ; for Nina, beck-
oning him to approach ye> ^ i^r, said, " Grod
be thanked that! may vet beg yu tr blessing and
forgiveness, dearest father r Then, pressing
her wasted hand upon her brow, she continued,
after a short pause, "Yes, I remember it all
now — all; the orange-grove — the flight — the ship
-«the last meeting T Oh 1 tell me, where is he 1
where is Ethelston 1"

** He is safe confined," answered L'Estrange,
scarcely repressing his rage; "he shall not
escape punishment. The villain shall yet know
the weight of an injured father's — " Ere he
could conclude the sentence, Nina, by a sudden
exertion, half rose in her bed. and^ grasping hjs
arm convulsively, said, " Father, curse aim not
— ^yon know not what you say ; it is on me, on
me alone, that all your anger should fall ; listen,
and speak not, for my hours are numbered, and
my strength nearly spent." She then proceeded
to tell him, in a faint but distinct voice, all the
particulars already known to the reader, keep-
ing back nothing in her own defence, and con-
fessing how Ethelston had been deceived, and
bow she had madly persisted in her endeavours
to win his love, after he had explicitly owned to
her that his heart and hand were promised to
another.

" 1 solemnly assure you," she said, in conclu-
alon, " that he never spoke to me of love, that he
warned me as a brother, and reproved me as a
father ; but I would not be counselled. His im-
age filled my thoughts, my senses, my whole
soul — it fills them yet ; and if you wish your
poor Nina to die in peace, let her see you em-
brace him as a friena and son." So saying she
sank exhausted on her pillow.

L'Estrange could scarcely master the agita-
tion excited by this narration. After a short
pause he replied, ** My poor child ! I fear you
dream again. I wrote only a few davs ago to
Ethelston, charging him with his villany, and
asking what he could say in his defence 1 His
reply was nothing but a canting subterfuge."

" What was it?" inquired Nina, faintly.

L'Estrange repeated the words of the note. As
he did so, a sweet smile stole over her counte-
nance, and, clasping her hands together, she ex-
claimed, "Like himself— noble, generous Ethel-
ston 1 Father, you are blind; he would not
exculpate himself, by proclaiming your daugh-
ter's shame I If you doubt me, question Fan-
chette — ^Jacques — who know it all too well ; but
you will not doubt me, dear, dear father! By
that Being to whose presence I am fast hasten-
ing, I tell you only the truth ; by His name I
conjure you to comfort my last moments, by
granting my last request !"

L*Estrange averted his face, and rising almost
immediately, desired an attendant to summon
Ethelston without delay.

A long pause ensued; Nina's lips moved as
if in 82 ten t prayer; and her father, covering his
face with his hands, struggled to control the an-
guish by which his firmness was all but over-
powered. At length Ethelston entered the room ;
ne had been informed that Nina was very ill, but

was by no means aware of the extremity of her
danger. Naturally indignant at the treatment
he had lately received, knowing it to be unde-
served, and ignorant oi the purpose for which he
was now called, his manner was cold and some-
what haughty, as he inquired the commands
which Captain L'Estrange might have for hts
prisoiier.

The agonized father sought in vain for utter-
ance ; his only reply was to point to the almost
lifeless form of his child.

One glance from the bed to the connten^mce
of L'Estrange was sufficient to explain all to
Ethelston, who sprang forward, and, wringiig
the old captain's hand, faltered, in a voice cf
deep emotion, " Oh ! forgive me for so speaking;
I knew nothing — nothing of this dreadful scene !"
Then, turning from him, he fixed his eyes upon
Nina, while the convulsive working of his fea-
tures showed that his habitual self-command
was scarcely equal to support the present unex-
pected trial.

The deadly paleness of her brow contrasted
with the disordered tresses of her dark hair — tb.
long eyelashes, reposing upon the transparent
cheek, which wore a momentary hectic glow —
the colourless lip, and the thin, wan fingers,
crossed meekly upon her breast — all gave to her
form and features an air of such unearthly beauty
that Ethelston almost doubted whether the spiri*
still lingered in its lovely mansion; but his
doubts were soon resolved, for, having finished
ihe unuttered but fervent prayer which she had
been addressing to the Throne of Grace, she
again unclosed her eyes, and when they rested
upon his countenance, a sweet smile played
round her lip, and a warmer flush came cvcrhe^
cheek. Extending her hand to him, she said.
" Can yon forgive me for all the wrong i Kavt
done you ]"

In reply, he pressed her fingers to his lips, for
he could not speak. She continued : " I kno^
that I grievously wronged my parents ; but the
wrong which I did to you was yet more cruel.
God be thanked for giving me this brief but pre-
cious hour for atonement. You more than onee
called me your sister and your friend! be a
brother to me now. And you, dearest father, if
your love outweighs my fault, — ^if you wish youi
child to die happy, embrace him^for my sake,
and repair the injustice that you' have done to
his generous nature I"

The two men looked at each other; their
hearts were melted, and their cordial embrace
brought a ray of gladness to Nina's eyes. " God
be thanked !" she murmured fkintly. "Let my
mother now come, that I may receive her bless-
ing.too."

While L'Estrange went to summon his wife
to a scene which the weakness of her mind and
nerves rendered her unequal to support, Nina
eontinued : " Dear, dear Ethelston, let me hear
your voice ; the madness, the passion, the jeal-
ousy, that filled my bosom are all past, but the
love is there, imperishable; tell me, my friend,
counsellor, brother, that you are not. angry with
me for saying so now."

Again the wasted fingers were pressed to his
burning lip ; hLs tongue could not yet find utter-
ance, but a tear which fell upon them told to the
sufferer that there was no indifference in that
silence.

Captain L'Estrange now entered, accompa-
nied by his wife. Although a weak and fool-
ish woman, her heart was not dead to those nat«

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

66

I

f

Dial afiections of a mother which the present
scene might be expected to call forth ; she wept
long and violently over her dying child, and
perhaps her grief might be embittered by a
whisper of conscience that her sufierings were
more or less atcribatat)le to neglected education.
Fearing that her mother's excessive agitation
might exhaust Nina's scanty store of remain-
ing strength, Ethelston suggested to Captain
L'Estrange to withdraw her into the adjoining
apanment; and, approaching the sufferer, he
whispered a few words in her ear. A sweet
smile played upon her countenance as she an-
swered, " Yes, and without delay."

Following her retiring parents from the room,
he motioned to the priest, who was waiting at
the door, to enter; and the sad party remained
together while the confessor periormed the rites
of his sacred office* Madaine L'Estrange was
so overpowered by her grief, that she was re-
moved, almost insensible, to her own apartment,
while, upon a signal from the holy man, Ethel-
ston and the father re-entered that of Nina.

Addressing the latier, she said in a faint voice,
"Dearest father, I have made my peace with
Heaven ; let me add one more prayer to you for
peace and forgiveness on earth."

" Speak it, my child j it is already granted,"
said the soflened veteran.

" Pardon, for my sake, Fanchette and Jacques :
they have committed a great offence j but it was
I who urged them to it."

"It is forgiven : and they shall not be punish-
ed," replied L'Eslrange: while Eihelsion, deep-
ly toucned by this amiable remembrance of the
offending -slaves at such a moment, whispered
to her in a low voice,

" Blessed are the peace-makers j for they shall
be called the children of God !"

A grateful pressure of the hand which he had
placed in hers, was the only reply, as she con-
tinued, addressing L'Estrange, " And let them
marry, father, I know they love each other ; and
those who love should marry." Here her voice
became feebler and feebler, as, once more open-
ing her dark eyes, which shone with preternat-
ural lustre upon Eihelston, she added, "Ypu,
too, will marry; but none will ever love you
tike your . . . sister ! — closer — closer yet I let me
feel your breath. Father, join your hand to his
—so ! This death is - - Par - - -"

The closing word died upon her lips; but the
angelic smile that lingered there seemed to em-
anate from that Paradise which their last mo-
ments strove in vain to name. Her earthly sor-
rows were at rest, and the bereaved father fell
txhaasted into Ethelston's arms.

CHAPTER XVII.

Bxcnnioa on tbe Pnirie.— The Party fall in with a yet-

eran Hunter. m

We mnst now reinm to Reginald and his*
trusty follower, Bapiiste, whom we left at St.
Louis, where ihey were busily employed in dis-
posing of Colonel Brandon's share of the pel-
tries brought in by the trapping party, which he
had partly furnished the preceding year. They
did not find much difficulty in effecting an ad-
vantageous sale" to two of the other partners in
the expedition, — active, enterprising men, who,
from their connection with the Mackinaw Fur
Company, were sure of reselliniS at considera-
ble profit.

As soon as these affairs were settled, Re|;i-
nald, who had been joined by Perrot, Bearskin.
and the remaining crew of the canoe, resolved
to defer no longer his proposed journey into the
Osage country. He left all the arrangements
to Baptiste and Bearskin, under whose superin-
tendence the preparations advanced so rapidljTi
that at the end oi a week they were satisfactori-
ly completed.

It had been determined to leave the canoe at
St. Louis, and to perform the journey by land;
for this purpose a strong saddle-horse was pur-
chased for each of the party, together with six
pack-horses, and as maay mules, for the trans^
ier of the ammunition, baggage, and presents
for their Indian allies. Four additional Cana-
dian " coureurs des Bois" wore engaged to take
charge of the packs ; so that when they started
for the Western Prairies, the party mustered
twelve in number, whose rank and designation
were as follows : —

Reginald Brandon ; Baptiste, his lieutenant ,
Bearskin, wjio. in the absence of the two former,
was to take tne command; M. Perrot, Mike
Smith, with three other border hunters, and the
four Canadians, completed the party.

Baptiste had taken care to place among the
packages an abundance of mirrors, cutlery, and
other articles most highly prized by the savages.
He had also selected the horses with the great-
est care, and two spare ones were tak«>n, in case
of accidents by the way. When all was ready,
even the taciturn Bearskin admitted that he had
never seen a party so well fitted out, in every
respect, for an Indian expedition. *

It was a lovely morning when they left St.
Louis, and entered upon the broad track which
led through the deep Missourian forest, with oc-
casional openings of prairie, towards a trading
post lately opened on the Osage, a river which
runs from S. W. to N.E. and falls into the Mis-
souri. Of all the party, none were in such exu-
berant spirits as JPerrot, who, mounted on an
active, spirited little Mestang horse,* capering
beside the bulky figure Of Mike Smith, address-
ed to him various pleasantries in broken Eng-
lish, which the other, if he understood them, did
not deign to notice. ♦

It was now near the close of May, and both
the prairie and the woodland scenerv were clad
in the beautiful and varied colours of early sum-
mer; the grassy road along which they wound
their easy way was soft and elastic to the horses'
hoofs ; and as they travelled farther from the set-
tlements scattered near St. Louis, the frequent
tracks of deer which they observed, tempted
Reginald to halt his party, and encamp for the
night, while he and Baptiste sallied forth to
provide for them a venison supper.

After a short hunting ramble they returned,
bearing with them the saddle of a fine buck. A
huge fire was lighted ; the camp-kettles, and
other cooking utensils were in immediate re-

2uest, and the travellers sat down to enjoy their
rst supper in the Missourian wilderness.
Monsieur Perrot was now quite in his ele-
ment, and became at once a universal favourite,
for never had any of the party tasted coffee or
flour-cakes so good, or venison steaks of so deli-
cate a flavour. His good humour was as iuex-
haustible as his inventive culinary talent ; and
they were almost disposed to believe in his

* Mestang', a horse bred between the wild and the tame
breeds ; they are sometimes to be met with amoiur the tra
i ders to Santa F^.

M

HWE PRAIit^IE-BiIRD.

coasting assurance, that so long as there was a
baffalo-hide, or an old moccasin left among
them, they should never want a good meal.

Haying sapped and smoked a comfortable
pipe, they proceeded to bivouac for the night.
By the advice of Baptiste, Reginald had deter-
mined to acciistom his j)arty, from the first, to
those |)recaationary habits which might soon
become so essential to their safety ; a regular
rotation of sentry duty was established, the hor-
ses were carefully secured, and every man lay
down with his knife in his belt, and his loaded
rifle at his side; the packs were all carefully

Eiled, so as to form a low breastwork, from be-
ind which they might fire, in case of sudden at-
tack ; and when these dispositions were comple-
ted, those who were not on the watch wrapped
themselves in their blankets or bufialo-sklns, and
'With their feet towards the fire, slept as comfort-
ably as on a bed of down.

For two days they continued their march in a
northwest direction, meeting with no incident
worthy of record ; the hunters found abundance
of game of every description, and Monsieur Per-
iot% skill was daily exercised upon prairie-hens,
turkeys, and deer. On the third day, as they
were winding their way leisurely down a wood-
ed valley, the sharp crack of a rifie was heard
at no great distance. Reginald, desiring to as-
certain whether Indians or while men were
hunting in the neighbourhood,, halted his party,
and went forward, accompanied by Baptiste, to
endeavour, unperceived, to approach the person
whose shot they had heard. A smooth, grassy
glade facilitated their project, and a slight col-
umn of smoke curling up from an adjoining
thicket, served to guide them towards the spot.
Ere they had advanced far, the parting of the
brushwood showed them that the object of their
search was approaching the place where they
stood, and they had barely time to conceal them-
selves in a bush of sumach, when the unknown
hunter emerged from the thicket, dragging after
him a fine deer. He was a powerful man of
middling height, not very unlike Baptiste in dress
and appearance, but even more embrowned and
weather-beaten than the trusty guide ; he seemed
to be about fifty years of age, and the hair on his
temples was scant and grey; his countenance
was strikingly expressive oi boldness and reso-
lution, and his eye seemed as clear and bright
as that of a man in the early prime of life.
Leaning his rifle against an adjoining tree, be
proceeded to handle and feel his quarry, to as-
certain the proportions of fat and meat ; the ex-
amination seemed not unsatisfactory, for when
it was concluded he wiped the perspiration from
his brow, and with a complacent smile muttered
half aloud, "Ah, 'taint every day as a man can
find a saddle like that in old Kentuck now-r
what with their dogs, and girdlins, and clearins,
and hog-feedings, and the other devilments of
the settlements, the deer's all d/iven out of the
country, or if it aint driven out, they run all the
fat ofi", so that it*s only fit to feed one of your
tradin' townbred fellows, who wouldn't know a
prime buck from a Lancaster sheep !"

After this brief soliloquy, the veteran sports-
man tucked up the sleeve of bis hunting-shirt,
and proceeded to skin and cut up his quarry, with
a skill and despatch that showed him to be a
perfect master of his craft. Reginald and Bap-
tiste had remained silent observers of his pro-
ceedings, but the former inferred from the pleas-
ed twinkle of the Guide's grey eyes, and the

comic woricingof the muscles of Ws moHtb, that
the solitary hunter was no stranger to him;
touching Baptiste lightty, he whispered, ** I see
that we have come across an acquaintance of
yours in this remote place."

" That we have, Master Reginald," said the
Guide; "and you'd have known him too, if
you'd spent some of the years in Kentuck, as.
you passed at those colleges in the old country.; \,
but we'll just step out and hail him, for thcxigh ",
he aint particular fond of company, he's not the
man to turn his back on a friend to whom he
has once given his hand."

So saying, he rose from his hiding place, and
coming out on the open glade, before Reginald
could inquire the stranger's name, the Guide
said aloud, "A prime buck, Colonel, I see your
hand's as steady as ever T"

At the first sound of a voice addressing him in
his own language, a shade of displeasure came
across the hunter's countenance, but as be recog-
nised the speaker, it disappeared instantly, and
he replied, ** Ha 1 Baptiste, my old friend, is thai
you 1 What chase are you on here 1**

So saying, he grasped the homy hand of the
Guide, with a heartiness which proved that the
latter was really welcome.

"Why, Colonel, I'm out on a kind o' mixed
hunt this turn, with this young gentleman, whose
father. Colonel Brandon, you've known many a
day. Master Reginald, Vm sure you'll be glad
to be acquainted with Colonel Boone, howbeil
you little expected to find him in this part of the
airth."

At the mention of the stranger's name, Regi-
nald's hand was raised unconsciously to his cap,
which he doffed respectfully as he said, " I am
indeed glad to meet tne celebrated Daniel Boone,
wl^ose name is as familiar to every western
hunter as that of Washington or Franklin in our
cities."

" My young friend," said the Colonel, laugh-
ing good-humouredly, " I am heartily glad to sec
your father's son, but you must not bring the
ways of the city into the woods, by flattering a
rough old bear-hunter with fine words."

" Nay," said Reginald, " there is no flattery,
for Baptiste here has spoken of you to me a
hundred times, and has told me, as often, that a
better hunter, or a better man does not breathe.
You seem to have known him some time, and
must, therefore, be able to judge whether he is
of a flattering sort or not."

"Why, it wasn't much his trade, I allow,"
replied the Colonel, " in old times when he and
I hunte^lbear for three weeks together in the big
laurel thicket at Kentucky Forks. I believe,
Baptiste, that axe at your belt is the very one
with which you killed the old she, who wasn't
pleased because we shot down two of her cubs ;
she hadn't manners enough to give us time to
load, again, and when you split her skull hand*
somely, she was playing a mighty unpleasant
game with the stock of my rifle. Ah, that was
a reasonable quiet country in those days," con-
tinued the Colonel; " we»had no trouble, but a
lively bit of a skrimmage, now and then, with
the Indians, until the Browns, and Frasers, and
Micklehams, and heaven knows how many more
came to settle in it, and what with their infernal
ploughs, and fences, and mills, tlj^ . untin' was
clean spoilt ; I stayed as long as I could, for I'd a
kind o^likin' to it; but at last I couldn't go tea
mile any way without comin' to some clearin' or
log-hut, so says I to myself, ' Colonel, the sooner

THE PRAIRTE.BIRD.

117

ytm clear out o' this, the better youll be pleas-
ed.*"

"Well, Colonel," said the Guide, "I heard
you had moved away irom the Forks, and had
gone farther down west, but thtey never told me
yoQ had crossed the big river."

" I only came hew last fall," replied the Colo-
nel • " fvir I found in Kentucky that as fast as I
mo/ed, the settlers and squatters followed : so I
thought Pd dodge 'em once for all, and mklse for
a country where the deer and I conld live com-
fortably together."

*' As we have thus accidentally fallen in with
sou," said Reginald, ** I hope you will take a
hvnter's meal with us before we part ; our men and
baggage are not a mile from this spol^ and Colonel
Boone's company will be a pleasure to us all.^
* The invitation was accepted as frankly as it
was eiven.

Baptiste shouldered the Colonel's venison, and
in a short time the three rejoined Reginald's par-
ty. Daniel Boone's name alone was sufficient
in the West to ensure him a hearty welcome.
Perrot's talents were put into immediate requi-
sttioD, and ere long the game and poultry of the
prairie were roasting before a capital fire, while
the indefatigable Frenchman prepared the addi-
tional and anusnai luxuries oi hot maize cakes
and coffee.

During the repast, Reginald learned from Col-
onel Boone that various parties of Indians had
been lately hunting in the neighbourhood. He
described most of them as friendly, and willing
to trade in meat or skins for powder and lead ;
he believed them to belong to the Konsas, a tribe
cncc powerful, and resident on the river called
by that name falling info the Missouri, about a
hnndred. miles to the N.W. of the place where
ojr party were now seated; but the tribe had
been of late reduced by the ravages of the small-
pox, and by the incursions' of the Pawnees — a
nation more numerous and warlike, whose vil-
lages were situated a hundred miles higher up
the same river.*

The Colonel described the neighbourhood as
abounding in elk, deer, bear, and turkeys ; but
he said that the beaver and buffalo were already
scarce, the great demand for their skins having
caused them to be hunted quite out of the regi«n
bordering on the settlements. After spending
a couple of hours agreeably with our party, the
veteran sportsman shouldered his trusty rifle,
and wishing our hero a successful hunt, and
shaking his old cotnrade Baptiste cordially b^
the hand, walked off leisurely in a northerly di-
rection, towards his present abode; which was
not, he said, so far distant but that he should
easily reach it before sundown.

As the last glimpse of his retiring figure was
lost in the shades of the forest, the Guide uttered
one of those grunts which he sometimes uncon-
sciously ind ulgedr Reginald knew that on these
occasions there was something on his mind, and
guessing that it referred to their departed guest,
he said,

" Wdl, Baptiste, I am really glad to have seen
Daniel Boone; and I can Unly say, I am not
disappointed ; he seems to be just the sort of man
that I expected to see."

* Th« Pawnee nationa have of late years fixed their win-
ter Tillages on the banks of the Nebraska, or Platte River,
anrny hundred miles to the N.W. of the spot named in the
•est ; but at the date of our narrative the^ dwelt on the
Danks of the Koneas, where the ruins of their principal vil-
^g» are still faintly to be diaoemed.

"He is a sort," said the Guide, " that we don't
see every day. Master Reginald. Perhaps he
ain't much of a talker; an' he don't use to quar-
rel unless there's a reason for't; but if he's once
aggravated, or if his friend's in a scrape, he's
rather apt to be dangerous."

" I doubt it not," said Reginald ; " there is a
qniet look of resolution about him; and, in a
difficulty, I would rather have one such man
with me thai^ two or three of your violeiit, noisy
brawlers."

As he said this his eye inadvertently rested
upon the huge figure of Mike Smith, who was
seated at a little distance lazily smoking his
pipe, and leaning against a log of fallen timber.
The Guide observed the direction of Reginald's
eye, and guessed what was passing in his mind.
A grave smile stole for a moment over his fea-
tures; but he made no reply, and in a few min-
utes, the marching orders being issued, the party
resumed their journey.

On the following day they reached a point
where the track branched on in two directions;
the broader, and more beaten, to the N.W. ; the
other towards the S.W. The Guide inform-
ed them that the fcurmer led along by the few scat-
tered settlements, that were already made on the
southern side of the Missouri, towards the ferry
and trading-post near the mouth of the Konsas
river; while the smaller, and less beaten track,
led towards the branch of Osage river, on which
the united party of Delawares and Osages, whom
they sought, were encamped.

Having followed this track for fifty miles, they
came to a spot, then known among hunters by
the name of the Elk Flats, where the branch oi
the Osage, called Grand Riyer, is ford able
Here they crossed without accident or difficu ty.
except that M. Perrot's horse missed his footing,
and slipped into a deeper part of the stream.
The horse swam lustily, and soon reached the
opposite bank ; but the rrenchmitn had cast him-
self ofiT, and now grasped with both hands an old
limb of a tree that was imbedded near the mid-
dle of the river; he could iust touch the ground
with his feet, but, being a bad swimmer, he was
afraid to let go his hold, for fear of being again
swept away by the current, while his rueful
countenance, and his cries for assistance, pro-
voked the mirth of all the party.

After enjoying his valet's alarm for a few min-
utes, Reginald, who had already crossed, entered
the river again with Nekimi, and approaching
Ferrot, desired him to grasp the mane firmly in
his hand, and leave the rest to the animal's sa-
gacity, which instruction being obeyed, he was
^afely brought ashore, and in a short time was
laughing louder than the rest at his own frijght,
and at the ludicrous predicament from whicA he
had been extricated.

The packages were all conveyed across with
ont accident, and the party found themselves en-
camped in what was then considered a part of
the Osage country. Here they were obliged to
use greater vigilance in the protection of their
camp and of their horses, during the night, as
they had not yet smoked the pipe with the chiefs,
and were liable to an attack from a partj of
warriors or horsestealers.

The night passed, however, without any di*
turbance ; and on the following day at noon, they
reached a spot which Baptiste recognized as a
former camping-place of tne Osages, and which
he knew to oe not distant from their present vil-
lage. Here his attention was suddenly draws

68

THE PRAiRlE-BIRD.

;o an adjoining maple, on the bark of which
sundry marks were rudely cut, and in a fork ot
, the tree were three arrows, and as many separ-
ate bunches of horsehair. He examined all these
carefully, and replaced them exactly as he found
them; after which he informed Reginald that
three braves of the Osages had gone ibrward du-
ring the past night on a war-excursion towards
the Konsas, and all these marks were left to in-
form their followers of their purpose, and the
exact path which they intended to pursue. He
also advised Reginald to halt his party here,
while he went on himself with one of the men
to the village, it being contrary to the customs of
Indian etiquette for a great man to come among
•hem unannounced.

Reginald adopted his counsel, and the sturdy
Guide, accompanied by one of the coureurs des
Bois, set out upon his mission, the result of which
will appear in the following chapter.

CHAPTER XVia

Reginald and his Party reach the Indian Eucampoient.

The Guide and his companion pursued their
way leisurely along a beaten track, which led
them through a well-timbered valley, watered
by one of the branches of Grand River, until it
emerged upon a rising slope of open prairie.
Having gained its summit, they saw at a little
distance the Indian encampment stretched along
the banks of a rivulet, which, after curving round
the base of the hill on which they now stood,
found its way to the line of heavy timber that
marked the course of the main river. They
were soon hailed by a mounted Delaware scout,
to whom Baptisie explained the peaceful nature
of his mission, and desired to be shown into the
presence of the principal chiefs.

As the Guide walked through the scattered
lodges of the Delawares, his eye rested on more
than one Indian to whom he was well known ;
out as he was now acting in the capacity of am-
bassador, it was not consistent with Indian
usage that he should speak or be spoken to by
others on the way. So well did he know the
habits of the people among whom he now found
himself, that when he arrived before the lodge of
the Great Chief, he passed by War- Eagle and
Wingenund, who had come to its entrance on
the approach of a stranger, and giving them
merely a silent sign of recognition, took the place
pointi^d out to him in the centre of the lodge, by
the side of th«» venerable man who was the head
of this emigrant band of the Lenap^ ; to whom,
as the highest proof of their respect and venera-
tion, they had given the name of Tamenund,*
by which alone he was now known throughout
the nation. ^

* The name of Tanieuund is doubtless familiar to all
Americans who have taken the slightest interest in the his-
tory of the Indian tribes, as well as to that more numerous
class who have read the graphic and picturesque descrip-
tions penned by the great American novelist ; nevertheless,
it may Tf^ necessary, for the information of some European
readers«|o state, that Tamenund was an ancient Lenap^
chieff vSoose traditionary fame is so great in the tribe, that
•hay have from time to time given his name to chiefs, and
•ven to white men, whom they desired especially to hon-
our. At the time of the revolutionary war, so numerous
were the traditions and legends respecting this hero, that
he was in some quarters established as the patron saint of
America, under the name of St. Tammany ; and hence arose
Um Tammany societies and Tammany buildings in various
parts of the Union. See Heekewalder's Historical AccotaU
•fihe Indian Natiotu^ chap, xl., and The Last of the MiM-
tmu^ ToL iii., pi. 153, Ao

The pipe of welcome having been presented,

and been smoked for a few minutes with becom-
ing gravity, Baptisie opened to Tamenund the
object of his visit, and informed him that a white
warrior and chief, already known to some of the
Delawares present, desired to eat, to smoke, and to
hunt with them for a season as a brother. To
this Tamenund, who had already been informed
by War-Eagle of the character and conduct. of
Reginald, as well as of his promised visit, repli-
ed with becoming dignity and hospitality, that
the young white chief should be welcome; that
his heart was known to be great among the Del-
awares, and that both he and his people should
be held as brothers ; at the same time he inform-
ed the Guide, that as they were about to move
their encampment immediately to a more fa-
vourable spot, it might be better for the White
Chief to join them on the following morning,
when all should be prepared for his reception.

The Guide having acceded to this suggestion,
rose to take his leave, and retired with his com-
panion from the village. Before they had gone
a mile on their return, they heard behind them
the trampling of horses, and Baptiste recognised
War-Eagle and Wingenund approaching at full
speed, who greeted him cordially, and made
many inquiries about Netis and the Lily of
Mooshanne.

Having acquired the desired information, it
was agreed, that before noon on the following
day Reginald should come to the spot where
they were now conversing, and that War-Eagle
should be there to escort and accompany him to
his first meeting with the Delaware and Osage
chiefs,

Thecie preliminaries being arranged, the Indi-
ans galloped back to the village, and Baptiste
returned without accident or interruption to Re-
ginald's camp, where he gave an account of his
mission and of the arrangements for the mor
row's conference.

Early on the following morning they set forth
towards the Indian village. By Baptiste's ad-
vice, Reginald attired himself more gaily than
usual ; his hunting-shirt and leggins of elkskin
were ornamented with fringes; the bugle slung
across his shoulders was suspended by a green
cord adorned with tassels; on his head he wore
a forage-cap encircled by a gold band; a brace
of silver-mounted pistols were stuck in his belt,
and a German boar-knife hung at his side ; he
had allowed Baptiste to ornament Nekimi's bri-
dle with beads, after the Indian fashioL, and the
noble animal pranced under his gallant ridei as
if conscious that he was expected to show his
beauty and his mettle. The dress and appear-
ance of Reginald, though fanciful and strange,
were rendered striking by the grace and muscu-
lar vigour of his frame, as well as by the open,
fearless character of his countenance ; and the
party of Whitemen went gaily forward, confi-
dent in the favourable impression which their
young leader would make on their Indian al-
lies.

When they reached the spot where Baptiste
had, on the preceding day, parted from War-
Eagle, they descried two Inaians sitting at the
root 01 an old maple-tree, as if awaiting their ar-
rival; a single glance enabled Reginald to rec-
ognise them, and springing from his horse, he
greeted War-Eagle and Wingenund with affec-
tionate cordiality, and read in the looks of both,
though they spoke little, that he was heartily
welcome. Wo«** 'h^v had $aluted Baptiste, Ra-

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

59

ginatd introdnced them in form to the other
members of his party, and among the rest, to
Monsieur Perrot, who having as yet seen few
Indians, and those of the meanest class, was sur-
prised at the noble and dignified appearance of
War-Eagle, to whom he dofied his cap with as
mach respect as if he had been a fiela-maishal
}f France.
Having made a short halt, daring which the

Sipe was passed round, and some cakes of In-
ian com and honey set before their guests, the
party again moved lorward, under the guidance*
of War-Eagle. Leaving the heavy timber in
the valley, they ascemded the opposite hill, where
a magnificent prospect openecTupon their view;
below them was an undulating prairie of bound-
less extent, through the middle of which ran a
tributary branch of Grand River; behind them
lay the verdant mass of ibrest from which they
had lately emerged ; the plain in front was dot-
ted with the lodges of the Delawares and the
Osages, while scattered groups of Indians, and
grazing horses, gave life, animation, and endless
variety to the scene.

Halting for a moment on the brow of the hill,
War-Eaglepointed out to Reginald the lodge of
his father Tamenund, distinguished above the
rest by its superior size and elevation, and at the
same time showed him at the other extremity of
the encampment, a lodge of similar dimensions,
which he described as being that of the Osage
chief.

" How is he called V* inquired Reginald.

" Mah^ga," replied the War-Eagle.

At the mention of this name the Guide uttered
cne of those peculiar sounds, something between
a whistle and a grunt, by which Reginald knew
that something was passing in his mind, but on
this occasion, without apparentiv noticing the
interruption, he continued, adcfressing War-
Eagle, " Will Mah^ga receive me too as a
brother — is the Osage chief a friend to the While-
Hien 1"

"IVIah^ga is a warrior,'' replied the Indian;
"he hunts with the Lenap6, and he must be a
friend of their brother."

Not only did this answer appear evasive, but
there was also something more than usually
constrained in the tone and manner of War-Ea-
gle, which did not escape the observation of
Reginald, and with the straightforward openness
of his character, he said, "War-Eagle, my heart
is open to you, and my tongue can be silent if
required — speak to me freely, and tell me if Ma-
h%a is a friend or not; is he a brave or a
snake V*

War-Eagle, fixing his searching eye upon
Reginald's countenance, replied, "Man6ga is a
warrior — the scalps in his lodge are many — his
Dame is not a lie, but his heart is' not that of a
Lenape — War-Eagle will not speak of him:—
Grand H&che knows him, and my brother's eyes
will be open."

Having thus spoken, the young chief added a
few words in his own tongue to Baptisie, and
making a sign for Wingenund to follow, he
galloped ofi* at speed towards the encamp-
ment.

Reginald, surprised, and somewhat inclined
to be displeased by their abrupt departure, turn-
ed to the Guide, and inquired the cause of it,
and also the meaning of War-Eagle's lasi
words.

Bapiiste, shaking his head significantly, re-
ylici in a low yoice, " I know Mahega well—

at least I have heard much of him } his name
signifies < Red- hand,' and, as the young chief
says, it tells no lie, for he has killed many ; last
year he attacked a war-party of the Outagamis*
near the Great River, and cut them off to a man ;
he himself killed their chief and several of their
warriors — they say he is the strongest and thi
bravest man in the nation."

" It seems to me," said Reginald, "iksX War
Eagle and he are not very good friends."

" They are not," replied Baptiste; "the young
Delaware has evidently some quarrel with him,
and therefore would not speak of him — we shall
learn what it is before many days are over;
meanwhile. Master Reginald, say nothing to
any others of the party on Uiis subject, ibr they
may take alarm, or show suspicion, and if they
do, your summer hunt may chance to end in
rougher play than we expect. I will keep my
eye on * Red-hand,' and will soon tell you what
tree he's making for,"

" Why did they gallop off so abruptly 1" iD*
quired Keginald.

"They are gone to rejoin the bands which
are coming oQt to receive us on our entrance,"
replied the Guide. "We must put our party
in their best array, and get the presents ready,
for we have not many minutes to spare."

The event proved the correctness of his calcu
lation ; for they had scarcely time to select from
the packs those articles destined to be presentee
to the chiefs at this interview, before they sail
two large bands of mounted Indians gallop to-
wards them from the opposite extremities of th«
encampment. As they drew near that whicl
came from the Delaware quarter, and was bead
ed by War-Eagle in person, they checked 'theii
speed, and approached slowly, while their lead
er, advancing in front of the band, saluted Regi-
nald and his party with dignified courtes]^.
Meanwhile, the body of Osages continued theii
career with headlong speed, shouting, yelling,
and going through all the exciting manoeuvres
of a mock fight, afier their wild fashion. Their
dress was more scanty and less ornamented than
that of the Delawares ; but being tricked out
with painted horsehair, porcupine quills, and
feathers, it bore altogether a more gay and pic-
turesque appearance; neither can it be denied
that they were, in general, better horsemen than
their allies; and they seemed to delight in show-
ing off their equestrian skill, especially in gal-
loping up to Reginald's party at the very top of
their speed, and then eitiier halting so suddenly
as to throw their horses quite back upon then
haunches, or dividing off to the right and to the
left, and renewing their manoeuvres in another
quarter with increased extravagance of noise
and gesture.

Reginald having learned from Baptiste that
this was their mode of showing honour to guests
on their arrival, awaited patiently the termina-
tion of their manoDuvres; and when at length
they ceased, and the Osage party reined their
horses up by the side of the Delawares, he went
forward and shook hands with their leader, a
warrior somewhat older than War-Eagle, and
of a fine martial appearance. As soon as he
found an opportunity, Reginald, turning toiyin-
genund, who was close behind him, inmuredf
in English, if that Osage chief was "Mahc-
gar

* The trilie raUed by white men "the Foxes,*' who in-
habit chiefly the regiuH between the Upper Minsissippi
Lake Michigan.

90

tHE PRAlfeli-BIRD.

" No," leplied the youth, "that is a brave*
called in their tongue tne Black- Wolf. Mah6-
ta," he added with a peculiar smile, " is very
fiifferent."

*• How do you mean, Wingenund V*

"•Black-Wolf," replied the youth, " is a war-
rior, and has no fear, but he is not like Mah6-
ga ; an antelope is not an elk *"

while this conversation was going on, the
party entered the encampment, and wound their
way among its scattered lodges, towards that of
Tamenund, where, as the War-Eagle informed
Reginald, a feast was prepared for his reception,
.0 which Mahega ana the other Osage leaders
were invited.

On arriving before the great lodge, Reginald
and his companions dismounted, and giving their
horses to the youths in attendance, shook hands
in succession with the principal chiefs and braves
of the two nations. Reginald was much struck
by the benevolent and dignified countenance of
the Delaware chief; but in spite- of himself, and
of a preconceived dislike which ks was inclined
to entertain towards Mah^a t>r Red-hand, his
eye rested on that haughty chieftain with min-
gled surprise and admiration. He was nearly a
head taller than those by whom he was surround-
ed ; and his limbs, though cast in a Herculean
mould, showed the symmetrical proportions
which are so distinctive of the North American
Indians; his forehead was bold and high, his
nose aquiline, and his mouth broad, firm, and
expressive of most determined character; h^
eye was rather small, but bright and piercing as
a hawk's; his hair had been all shaven from his
head, with the exception of the scalp-lock on the
crown, which was painted scarlet, and interwo-
ven with a tufl of horsehair dyed of the same col-
our. Around his muscular throat was suspend-
ed a collar formed from the claws of the grizzly
bear, ornamented with parti-coloured beads, en-
twined with the delicate fur of the white ermine ;
his hunting-shirt and leggins were of the finest
antelope skin, and his mocassins were adorned
with beads and the stained quills of the porcu-
pine. He leaned carelessly on a bow, which
lew men in the tribe could bend. At his back
were slung his arrows in a quiver made of wolf-
skin, so disposed that the grinning visage of the
animal was seen above his shoulder, while a
war-club and scalping-knife, fastened to his belt,
completed the formidable Mah^a's equipment.

As he glanced his eye over the party of white
men, there was an expression of scornful pride
on his countenance, which the quick temper of
their youthful leader was ill disposed to brook,
had not the prudent counsels of the Guide pre-
pared him lor the exercise of self-command.
Nevertheless, as he turned from the Osage chief
to the bulky proportions of his gigantic follower,
Mike Smith, he felt that it was like comparing
a lion with an ox; and that in the event of a

* In describing the mannen and distinctions of rank
among the Indians of the Missouri plains, it is necessary to
adopt the terms in common use among the guides and tra-
ders, however vague and unsatisfactory those terms may
Im. In these tribes the chieftainship is partly hereditaiy
and partly elective ; there is usually one Great Chie^ and
then are also chiefs of a second degree, who are chiefs of
diilemnt bands in the tribe ; neit to these in rank are the
** Braves," the leading warriors of the nation ; and in order
to be qualified for admission into '.his rank, an Indian must
kave killed an enemy or given othei sufficient evidence of
eourage and capacity. When a war-council is held, the
«|WD«oin of the principal Brave is frequently preferred be-
fan chat of the chief

quarrel between them, the rifle alone couid rezi*
der its issue doubtful.

The feast of welcome was now prepared in
the lodge of Tamenund, which was composed
of bison skins stretched upon poles, arranged in
the form of a horse-shoe, artd covering an •xtem
of ground apparently not less than twenty yards
in length. Reginald observed also several small-
er lodges immediately adjoining that of the chief.
on one side, and on the other a circular tent of
wa:c-cloth, or painted canvass, evidently pro-
Vured from while men, as it was of excellent
texture, and its door, or ap^rture,^ protected by
double folds of the same material.

While he was still looking at this compara-
tively civilized dwelling, with some curiosity to
know by whom it might be tenanted, the folds
of the opisning were pushed a:nde, and an elder-
ly man appeared, who, after contemplating for
a moment the newly-arrived group, came for-
ward to ofier them a friendly salutation. He
was apparently between fifly and sixty; but his
years were not easily guessed, for his snow-
white hair might seem to hav€ numbered seven-
ty winters; while from the uprightness of his
carriage, -alid the elasticity of nis step, be seem-
ed scarcely past the vigour of middle life. In
figure he was tall and slight; his countenance,
though tanned by long exposure to the stm, was
strikingly attractive, ana his mild blue eye
beamed with an expression of benevolence not
to be mistaken. His dress was a black frock
of serge, fastened at the waist by a girdle of the
same colour, from which was suspended a small
bag, wherein he carried the few simples atid in-
struments requisite for his daily offices cf chari-
ty and kindness. Dark grey trousers of the
coarsest texture, and mocassins of buffalo hide,
completed the dress of Paul Miiller, already
mentioned by Wingenund to Reginald as the
"Black Father;" under which name, translated
according to their various languages, the pious
and excellent Missionary was known among the
Delawares, Osages, loways, Otoes, Konsas, and
other tribes then inhabiting the regions lying be-
tween the Missouri and the Arkansas.

Such was the man who now came forward to
greet the newly-arrived party; and such was the
irresistible charm of his voice and manner, that
from the first Reginald felt himself constrained
to love and respect him.

The feast bemg now ready, and Reginald bar-
ing pointed out Baptiste and Bearskin as his
officers, or lieutenants, they were invited with
him to sit down in the lodge of Tamenund, with
the principal chiefs of the Delawares, the Chief
and Great Medicine Man* of the Osages, and the
Black Father. (Mike Smith and the other white
men being feasted by a brave in an adjoining
lodge.) The pipe was lighted, and having been
passed twice round the party with silent gravity,
the Great Medicine made a speech, in which he
praised the virtues and hospitality of Tamenund,
and paid many compliments to the white guests ;
after which a substantial dinner was set before

♦ " M edidne-men.'* This term (commonl;^ tised by tr»>
ders among the Indians beyond the Mississippi) signifies.th*
*' priests,** or ** mystery-men,*' who are set apart for th«
celebration 6f all religious rites and ceremonies. They ar«
the same class as those who were described by Charletroizi
and other early French writers, as *' Jongleurs,'* becaosa
they unite medical practice to their sacerdotal office, and^
more especially in the former, exercise all manner of absurd
mummery. Their dress, character, and habits vary accord'
inff to the tribe to which they belong ; but they are genoina
" Jooglears" throughout.

THE PA;iAl&BIRD.

n

ibem, coosisdng of roasted buffalo-ribs, venison,
and boiled maize.

Reginald had never before been present at an
Indian feast, and though he had the appetite nat-
Qralfy belonging to his age and health, he soon
found that he was no match, as a trencherman,
for those among whom he was now placed ; and
before they had half finished their meal, he re-
placed his knife in its sheath and announced
(limself satisfied.

The old chief smiled good-humouredly, and
said that he would soon do better, while Mahega,
qnietly commencing an attack upon a third buf-
&lo-rib, glanced at him with a look of contempt
that he was at no pains to conceal, and which,
as may well be imagined, increased our hero's
^like far the gigantic Osage.

CHAPTER XIX.
Eeginald and hia party at the Indian encampment

While Reginald and his two oompanions
vera feasting with Tamenund, a similar repast
was laid before the rest of the party, in the
ledge of a brave named Maque-o»nah, or the
"Bear-asleep," at which Mike Smith occupied
tbe centre, or principal seat, and next to him
sat Monsieur Perrot — the latter personage being
very curious to see tbe culinary arrangements
mde for this, his first Indian banquet. He
was horrified at observing the carelessness
with which they thrust half the side of a bufl'alo
to the edge of a huge fire of undried wood,
leaving a portion of the meat to be singed and
twrnt, while other parts were scarcely exposed
to the heat ; he could not refrain from express-
ion to one of the Canadian coureurs des Bois,
iahis own language, his contempt and pity for
the ignorant savages, who thus presumed to
desecrate a noble science, which ranked higher,
io his estimation, than poetry, painting, or
acDlptnre ; but he was warned that he must be
very careful neither to reject, nor show any
distaste for the food set before him, as, by so
doing, he would give mortal offence to his en-
tertainers. It was ludicrous in the extreme to
watch the poor Frenchman's attempts at im-
parting to his features a smile of satisfaction,
when a wooden bowl was placed before bun,
filled with half boiled maize, and beside it one
of the bafiaio ribs, evidently least favoured by
the fire, as it was scarce r warmed through,
aid was tough and stringy as shoe-leather.
After bestowing upon sundry portions of it
many fruitless attempts at mastication, he con-
trived, unperceived, to slip what remained of
tke meat into the pocket of his jacket, and then
laughed with great self-satisfaction at the triok
he had played his uncivilized hosts.

When the feast was concluded in Tamenund '8 >
lodge, Reginald desired his men to unpack one
of the bales, which he pointed out, and to spread
its contents before him ; the savages gathered
round the coveted and glittering objects, with
eager but silent astonishment, while he sepa-
rated the presents which, by the advice of Bap-
tiste, were now distributed among their chiefs ;
to Tamenund he apportioned a large blanket of
scarlet cloth, a silver mounted pistol, and a bas-
ket containing mirrors, beads, and trinkets, for
his wives and daughters. To Mahega a bridle

ornamented with beads^ several pounds of tOr
bacco, powder, and lead, a fowling-piece, and a
blanket of blue woollen-stuff. The features of
the Osage Chief relaxed into a grim smile of
satisfaction as he received these .valuable gifts,
and he so far overcame the repulsive sternness
of his usual character as to seize Reginald's
hand, and to tell him that he was a great chief,
and good to bis. Indian brothers. The other
presents having been distributed among the
chiefs and braves, according to their rank, the
feast was broken up and they retired to their
respective lodges ; Regiuald, Baptiste, and M.
Perrot, being acooaunodated in that of Tame*
nund hims^^lf) and Bearskin, with the rest of
the white-men's party^ in those lodges which
have before been mentioned as being contiguous,
to that of the old chief

During the first night that be spent in his
new quarters, tbe excitement, and novelty of
the scene, banished sleep from the eyes- of Regi-
nald, and finding himself restless, he arose half
an hour before daybreak, to enjoy the early
freshness of the morning. Throwing his rifle
over his arm, he was about to leave the lodge,
when Baptiste touched him, and inquired in a
low voice, if he were prepared with a "reply in
case of being challenged by any of the scouts
around the encampment ; with some shame he
confessed he had forgotten it, and the guide
then instructed him, if he were challenged, to
say *' Lenape n*a ki Netis" or ** I am Netis, the
friend of the Dela wares." Being thus prepared,
and carrying with him the few articles requisit't
for a prairie toilet, he stepped out into the open
air. Close by the opening of the lodge he saw
a tall figure stretched on the grass, enveloped
in a buffalo>robe, the hairy fell of which was
silvered with the heavy night-dew ; it was War-
Eagle, who rarely slept in lodge or tent, and
whose quick eye, though he neither moved nor
spoke, discerned his white brother in a mo-
ment, although the latter could not recognize his
friend.

Reginald pursued his way through the en-
campment to its extremity, where the streamlet
before mentioned wound its course among the
dells and hillocks o^ the prairie, until it reached
the larger river that flowed through the distant
forest. After following the banks of the stream '
for one or two miles, the red streaks in tha
eastern horizon gave notice of day's approach,
and observing near him a hill, somewhat more
Novated than those by which it was surrounded,
Reginald climbed to its top, in order to observe
the effect of sunrise on that wild and pictures
que scene.

To the westward, the undulations of the
prairie, wrapped in heavy folds of mist, rose in
confused heaps Uke the waves of a boundless
ocean : to the south, he could just distinguish
the lodges and the smouldering fires of the en*
campment, whence, at intervals, there fell upon
his ear mingled and indistinct sounds, disagree^
able perhaps in themselves, but rendered har-
monious by distance, and by their unisor with
the wildness of the surrounding objects ; ^hiie
to the eastward lay a dense and gkmmy range
of woods, over the summits of whose fohage
the dawning son was shedding a stream of
golden light.

Beginal4 gazed upon thi^ aoene with won^a

es

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

and delight ; and every moment while he gazed
called into existence richer and more yaried
beauties. The mists and exhalations rising
from the plain curled themselves into a thousand
fantastic shapes around the points and projec-
tions of the hjlls, where they seemed to hang
Kke mantles which the Earth had cast from
her bosom, as being rendered unnecessary by
the appearance of the day ; swarms of children
and of dusky figures began to emerge from the
encampment, and troops of horses to crop the
pasture on the distant hills, while the splendour
of the sun, now risen in its full glory, lit up
with a thousand varying hues the eastern ex-
panse of boundless forest. Reginald's heart
was not insensible to the impressions naturally
excited by such a scene ; and while he admired
its variegated beauties, his thoughts were raised
in adoration to that Almighty and beneficent
Being, whose temple is the Earth, and whose
are the *' cattle upon a thousand hills.''

Having made his way again to the banks of
the stream, and found a spot sheltered by alder
and poplar trees, he bathed and made his morn-
ing toilet ; after which he returned towards the
encampment, his body refreshed by his bath,
and his mind attuned to high and inspiring
thoughts by the meditation in which he had
been engaged. As he strolled leisurely along,
be observed a spot where the trees were larger,
and the shade apparently more dense than the
other portions of the Valley ; and, being anxious
to make himself acquainted with all the locali-
ties in the neighbourhood of bis new home, he
followed a small beaten path, which, after sun-
dry windings among the alders, brought him to
an open space screened on three sides by the
bushes, and bounded on the fourth by the stream.
Reginald cast his eyes around this pleasant and
secluded spot, until they rested upon an object
that rivetted them irresistibly. It was a female
figure seated at the root of an ancient poplar,
over a low branch of which one arm was care-
lessly thrown, while with the other she held a
book, which she was reading with such fixed
attention as to be altogether unconscious of
Reginald's approach. Her complexion was
dark, but clear and delicate, and the rich brown
hair which fell over her neck and shoulders,
still damp and glossy from her morning ablu-
tions, was parted on her forehead by a wreath
of wild flowers twined from among those which
grew around the spot ; the contour of her figure,
and her unstudied attitude of repose, realized
the classic dreams of Nymph and Nereid, while
her countenance wore an expression of angelic
loveliness, such as Reginald had never seen or
imagined.

He gazed— and gazing on those sweet fea-
tures, he saw the red full lips move uncon-
sciously, while they followed the subject that
absorbed her attention, and forgetful that he
was intruding on retirement, he waited, en-
tranced, until those downcast eyes should be
raised. At length she looked up, and seeing
Ihe figure of a man within a few paces of her,
she sprang to her feet with the lightness of a
startled antelope, and darting on him a look of
mingled surprise and reproof, suppressed the
exclamation of alarm that rose to her lips. Re-
ginald would fain have addressed the lovely be-
ing before him, he wov^d f»( vees»- **^bi8

unintended intrusion ; but the words died apoti
his lips, and it was almost mechanically that he
doffed his hunting cap, and stood silent and ua*
covered before her ! Recovering from the mo-
mentary confusion, she advanced a step towards
him, and with an ingenuous blush held out her
hand, saying in a gentle tone of inquiry, and
with the purest accent, **Netis, my brother's
friend V

" The same, fair creature," replied Reginalil,
whose wonder and admiration were still more
excited by the untaught grace and dignity of
her manner, as well as by hearing bis own
tongue so - sweetly pronounced ; *' but, in the
name of Heaven, who— what — whence can yon
bel" Blushing more deeply at the animation
and eagerness of his manner, she was for a mo-
ment silent, when he continued, striking bis
hand on his forehead : — " Oh, I have it, fool,
tortoise, that I was. You are * Prairie- bird,'
the sister of whom Wingenund has told me so
much." Then, gently pressing the little hand
which he had taken, he added, '* Dear Winge-
nund ! he saved my life ; his sister will not con-
sider me a stranger V*

Again a warmer blush mantled on the cheek
of Prairie-bird, as she replied, "You are no
stranger : you speak of Wingenund*s good deed :
you are silent about your own ! You drew
War-Eagle from the deep and swift waters.
I have heard it all, and have often wished to see
you and thank you myself" There was a mod-
est simplicity in her manner as she uttered
these few words that confirmed the impression
made on Reginald by the first glimpse of hei
lovely form and features ; but beyond this there
was something in the tone of her voice that
found its way direct to his heart ; it fell upon
his ear like an old familiar strain of music, and
he felt unwilling to break the silence that fol-
lowed its closing accents.

It is not our province, in a simple narrative
of this kind, to discuss the oft-disputed ques-
tion, whether love at first sight deserves the
name of love ; whether it is merely a passing
emotion^ which, though apparantly strong, a
brief lapse of time may efface ; or, whether
there be really secret irresistible natural impul-
ses, by which two human beings, who meet to-
gether for the first time, feel as if they had
known and loved each other for years, and as
if the early cherished visions of fancy, the aspi-
rations of hope, the creations of imagination,
the secret, undefined longings of the heart, were
all at once embodied and realized.* We are in-
clined to believe that, although not frequent,
instances sometimes occur of this instinctive
sympathy and attraction, and that, when they
do so, the tree of affection, (like the fabled
palm at the touch of the Genius' wand,) starts
into immediate luxuriance of fiower and foliage,
striking its tenacious roots far into the kindly
soil, destined thenceforward to become the nur-
ture of its verdant youth, the support of its ma-
ture strength, and at length the resting-place of
its leafless and time-stricken decay.

Snch seemed to be the case with Reginald
and Prairie-bird, for as they looked one at the
other, each was unconsciously occupied with
teeming thoughts that neither conld define nor

• Sm BdilUer'i " Biide of Manilla »

THE PRAIRIE-BIRB.

63

express, and both felt relieyed at hearing ap-
proaching footsteps and the yoice of the Black
Father, who calleid oat in English,

"Come, my child, I have aUowed you fall
time this morning ; we will return to the camp."
As he spoke his eye fell apon Reginald, and he
added, courteously, **You have been early
abroad, young sir."

** I have," replied Reginald. ** I went to the
top of yonder heights to see ths sunrise, and
was amply repaid by the beauty of the scene ;
00 my return, I wandered accidentally into this
aeduded spot, and trust that my intrusion has
been forgiven."

** I believe that my dear child and pupil would
forgive a greater offence than that, in one who
bas shown so much kindness to her brothers,'*
replied the Missionary, smiling ; and he added,
in a low voice, addressing the Prairie-bird in
his own language, " Indeed, my child, I think he
deserves our friendly welcome ; for, unless his
countenance strongly belies his character, it ex-
presses all those good qualities which Winge-
nimd taught us to expect."

" Stay, sir," said Reginald, colouring highly ;
"let me not participate without your knowledge,
in your communications to Prairie-bird. I have
travelled much in Germany, and the language
is familiar to me."

"Then, my young friend,'* said Paul Muller,
taking his hand kindly, " you have only learned
from what I said, how hard a task you will have
to fulfil the expectations that Wingenund has
led us to entertain."

"I can promise nothing," replied Reginald,
^ncing towards the maiden, "but a true
tongue, a ready hand, and an honest heart ; if
these can serve my friend's sister, methinks
she may expect them without being disappoint*
ed."

The words in themselves were nothing re-
markable, but there was an earnest feeling in
the tone in which they were spoken that made
Prairie-bird's heart beat quicker ; she answer-
ed him by a look, but said nothing. Wonder-
ful is the expression, the magic eloquence of
the human eye, and yet how is its power ten-
fold increased when the rays of its glance pass
through the atmosphere even of dawning love.
Reginald longed to know whence and who she
oeuld be, this child of the wilderness, who had
80 suddenly, so irresistibly, engaged his feel-
ings; above all he longed to learn whether her
heart and affections were free, and that single
look, translated by the sanguine self-partiality
of love, made him internally exclaim, ** Her
heart is not another's !" Whether his conjec-
ture proved correct the after course of this tale
will show, meanwhile we cannot forbear our
admiration at the marvellous rapidity with
^ich our hero, at his first interview with
P^irie-bird settled this point to his own satis-
£iction. The little party now strolled towards
the camp, and as they went, Reginald, seeing
that Prairie-bird still held in her hand the book
that he had seen her peruse with so much at-
tention, said,

"May I inquire the subject of your studies
this morning 1"

"Certainly," she replied, with grave and
Bweet sunplicity ; '* it is the subject of my study
eveiy moming ; the book was giT^ me >jr xd|

dear father and instructor now by my side. I
have much to thank him for ; all I know, all I
enjoy, almost all I feel, but most of all for this
book, which he has taught me to love, and in
some degree to understand."

As she spoke she placed in Reginald's hand
a small copy of Luther's translation of the Bi-
ble; in the fly-leaf before the title page was
written, " Given to Prairie-bird by her loving
fother and instructor^ Paul Muller." Reginald
read this inscription half aloud, repeating to
himself the words "Miiller," "father," and
coupling them with the strange enigmas for^
merly uttered by Wingenund respecting the
origin of Prairie-bird, he was lost in conjecture
as to their meaning.

• " I see your diflicuTty," said the Missionary ;
*' you do not understand how she can call Win-
genund and War-Eagle brothers, and me fa«
ther. In truth, she has from her earliest child-
hood been brought up by Tamenund as his
daughter, and as I reside chiefly with this Dela-
ware band, I have made it my constant occupa-
tion and pleasure to give her sueh instruction
as my bumble means admit ; she has been en-
trusted to us by the mysterious decrees of Pro-
vidence ; and thougl\ the blood of neither flows
in her veins, Tamenund and I have, according
to our respective offices, used our best endea
vours to supply the place of natural parents.'

" Dear, dear father," said Prairie-bird, press-
ing his hand to her lips, and looking up in his
face with tearful eyes, " you are and have been
everything to me, instructor, comforter, guide,
and father! My Indian father, too, and ray
brothers are all kind and loving to me. I have
read in the books that you have lent me many
tales and histories of unkindness and hatred
between parents and children, among nations
enlightened and civilized. I have had every
wish gratified before expressed, and every com-
fort provided. What could a father do for a
child, that you have not done for mel"

As she spoke she looked up in the Mission-
ary's face with a countenance so beaming with
full aflfection, that the old man pressed her in
his arms, and kissing her forehead, muttered
over her a blessing that he was too much moved
to pronounce aloud; after a pause of a few
minutes, he said to Reginald, with his usual
benevolent smile, " We only know you yet by
your Indian name of *Netis' — how are you
called in the States 1 We inquired of War-eagle
and Wingenund, but they either did not remem
ber, or could not pronounce your namel"

" Reginald Brandon," replied our hero.

Prairie-bird started, and abruptly said, "Again,
again ; say it once morel"

Reginald repeated it, and she pronounced the
first name slowly after him, pressing her hand
upon her forehead, and with her eye fixed on
vacancy, while broken exclamations came from
his lips.

" What are you thinking of, dear child r ' said
the Missionary, somewhat surprised and alarmed
by her manner. ^

" Nothing, dear Father," she rephed, with a
faint smile ; *' it was a dream, a strange dream
which that name recalled and confused my
head ; we are now close to the camp, I will go
in and rest awhile -, perhaps you may like t*
talk more with Ne?4 mean/' she added hesi*

64

TH£ PRAI&^IE-B^RJK

tating, " with Regioald." So sajing, and salii-
tmg them with that natural grace which be-
longed to all her moyements, she withdrew
towards the camp, and Reginald's eyes followed
her retreating figure until it was lost behind the
canTass-folds that protected the opening to her
tent

CHAPTER XX.

Reginald holds a oDBvenatioii: wiUt ihe mifldpaaiy.

, RKonrALD still kept his eyes on the opening
through which Prairie-bird had disappeared into
Ihe tent, as though they could have pierced
through the canvass th^ concealed frona his
view its lovely inhabitant: bis feelings were in
a state of confusion and excitement, altogether
new to him ; for if, in his European travels, he
bad paid a passing tribute of admiration to the
beauties who had crossed his path, and whom
bis remarlcable personal advantages had ren-
dered by no means insensible to his homage,
the surface only of his heart had been touched,
wiiereas now its deepest fountains were stirred,
and the troubled waters gushed forthwith over*
whelming force.

He was recalled to himself by the voice of
the missionary, who, without appearing to no-
tice his abstraction, said, " My son, if you choose
that we should prolong our walit, I am ready
to accompany you." If the truth must be told,
Reginald could at that moment scarcely endure
the presence of any human being: he felt an
impulse to rush into the woods, or over the
plain, and to pour forth in solitude the torrent
of feelings by which he was oppressed ; but he
controlled himself, not only because he really
felt a respect for the good missionary, but also
because he hoped through him to obtain some
information respecting the extraordinary being
who had taken such sudden possession of his
Ihoughts ; he replied, therefore, that he would
willingly accompany him, and they took their
way together along the banks of the streamlet,
alternately observing on the scenery and sur-
sounding objects.

This desultory conversation did not long suit
tte eager and straightforward character of Re-
ginald Brandon ; and he changed it by abruptly
liiqairing of his companion, whether he knew
anything of the history and parentage of Prairie-
bird.

■t "Not much," replied Paul Miiller, smiling;
'* she was with this band of Delawares when I
first came to reside among them ; if any one
knows her history it must be Tamenund ; bat
he keeps it a iH-ofound secret, and gives out
among the tribe that she was sent to him by
the Great Spirit, and that as long as she re-
mains with the hand they will be successful in
hunting and in war."

" But how," inquired Reginald, " can he make
aach a tale pass current among a people who
are well known to consider the female sex in
ao inferior and degraded a light T*

** He has effected it," replied the missionary,
**• partly by accident, partly by her extraordinary
beauty and endowments, and partly, I must own,
by my assistance, which I have given beoause
I thereby enaured to bar the kin&at and. most

respectful treatmeat, and alao endeaToored,
under God's blessing to make her instrumentai
in sowing the seed of His treth among tbeas
benighted savag^Sv"

<*Let meun&nstand this more in detail/' said
Reginald, "if the narratioa does not trouble

»>

you

" Her first appearance among the Delaware^
as they have told me," said the missionaxy^ was
as followa :-~" Their prophet, or great mediioiiia
maUf dreamed that under a certain. tree was de-
posited a treasure that should enrteh the trilia
and render them fortunate : a party was seal
by order of the chief to search the spot indica3>
ted, and on their arrival they found a fianale'
child wrapped in a covering of beaver skiot and
reposing on a couch of Turkey of featbeiiai
these creatures b^ng supposed to preside pecor
liarly over the fate of the Delawares, they
brought back the cluld with great ceremony to
the villain, where they (^aced her under the
care:Of the chief .; set apart a tent or lodge for
her own peculiar use, and ever sinee that tima
have contitiued to take every oace of her comr
fort and safety."

**I suppose," interrupted Reginald, "th«
dream of the great medicine, and all its accom-
paniments, were secretly arranged between hio;
and the chief ]"

"Probably they were," replied Paul; "but
you must beware how you say as much to any
Delaware ; if you did not risk your life, jroii
would give modal ofience. After all, an. impo-
sition that has resulted in harm to no one, aad
in so much good to an interesting and uopio-
teeted creature, may be forgiven."

" Indeed I will not gainsay it," replied oui
hero ; " pray continue your narrative."

"My sacred office, and the kindly feeling
entertained towards me by these Indians, gave
me frequent opportunities of seeing and con-
versing with Olitipa, or the * Prairie-bird ;' and
I found in her such an amiable disposition, aod
so quick an apprehension, that I gave my beat
attentioB to the cultivation of talents, which
might, I hoped, some day produce a harvest of
usefulness. In reading, writing, and in musie^
she needed but little instruction ; I furnished
her from time to time with books, and paper,
and pencils ; an old Spanish guitar, probably
taken from some of the dwellings of that people
in Missouri, enabled her to practise simple
melodies, and you would be surprised at the
sweetness with which she now sings words,
strung together by herself in English and Ger*
man, and also in the Delaware tongue, adapting
them to wild airs, either such as she bears
among the Indians, or invents herself; I took
especial pains to instruct her in the practical
elements of a science that my long residence
among the different tribes has rendered necea*
sary and familiar to me, — I mean that of medif
cine, as connected with the rude botany of th«
woods and prairies ; and so well has she profit*
ed by my instruction, and by her own perseve.
ring researches, that there is scarcely a tree, o^
gum, or herb possessing any sanatory propertiea
which she does not know and apply to he re-
lief of those around her.

" Indeed," said Regiaald, laughing ; " I had
not expected to find this last anaoag the aecoflif
pUshmeota ofPrairiQ-bird.'*.

THE PRAIRIEBIRD.

"Von were mistakoB then," replkcd Paul
Mailer ; ** najT, more ; I fear that, in yotir est!-
nate of what are usaaHjr termed female accom*
.ihshmentSy you have been accustomed to lay
too much stress on those which are light or tri-
fiing, and too- little on those which are useful
and properly feminine ; evefft in settled and civ-
Bised countries the most grievous fevers and
ailments to which we are subject, require the
ministration of a female nurse ; can it be then
anreasonable that ve should endeavour to min-
gle, in their education, acme knowledge of the
remedies which they may be called upon to ad-
minister, and of thei bodily ills which it is to be
their province to alleviate 1"

** Yoa are right,'^ answered Reginaldi mod-
estly ; '* and I entreatyour pardon for the hasty
levity with which I spoke on the subject. I am
well aware that, in olden times, no young wom-
an's education was held to b^ complete without
some knowledge both of ^e culinary and heal-
ing arta; and I much donbt whether so(;iety
has not suffered from their having altogether
abandoned the cultivation of these in &vour of
singing, dancing, and reading of the lightest
kind."

"^it is the characteir of the artificial state to
which society is fast verging," replied Paul ;
** to prefer accomplishments to qualities, orna-
ment to usefulness, luxury to comfort, tinsel to
gold ; setting aside the consideration of a luture
state, this system might be well endugh, if the
drawing-room, the theatre, and the ball, were
the sum of human life ; but it is iU calculated to
render man dignified in his character, and use-
ful to his fellow-creatures, or woman what she
cagkt to be, — the comfort, the solace, the orna-
ment of home."

" These observations may be true as regards
England or France," replied Reginald : '* but
you surely would not apply them to our coun-
try?"

"To a certain extent, I do,*^ answered the
missionary. '* I have been now thirty years on
this continent, and have observed that, as colo-
nists, the Americans have been very faithful
imitators of these defects in their mother coun-
try ; I am not sure that they will be rendered
less so by their political emancipation."

The coaTersation was now straying rather
too far from the subject to which Reginald de-
sired to confine it ; Waving, therefore, all reply
fo the missionary's last observation, he said,
** If I understood you aright, there were, beyond
tiiese studies and accom{dishmeHts of Prairie-
bird, some other means employed by you, to
give and preserve to her the extraordinary in-
fluence which yoa say that she possesses over
(he Indians."

"There were," replied Paul MijUer : " among
others, I enabled her to. vaccinate most of the
children in this band, by which means they es-
caped the fatal efiTects of a disorder, that has
committed dreadful ravages among the sur-
lounding tribes; and I have instructed her in
•ome of the elementary calculations of astrono-
my ; owing to which they look upon her as a
niperior being, commissioned by the Great
Spirit to live among them, and to do them good ;
thus her person is safe, and her tent as sacred
from intrusion as the great medicine lodge ; I
n Idlowed to occopy a compartment in it,
£

where I keep our little stores of books and
medicines, and she goes about the camp on
her errands of benevolence, fallowed by the
attachment and veneration of all classes and
ages !"

"Happy existeaceV exclaimed Reginald;
"and yet," he added, musing; **sbe cannot,
surely, be doomed through life to waste such '
sweetness on an air so desert !"

''I know not," answered the missionary.
" God*s purposes are mysterious, and the in-
struments tha( he chooses for efifecting them,
various as the flowen on the prairie. Many an
Indian warrior has that sweet child turned from
the path of blood, more than one uplifted toma-
hawk has fallen barndees at the voice of her en-
treaty ; nay, I have reason to hope that in Win-
genuqd, and in several others of the tribe, she
has partially uprooted the weeds of hatred and
revenge, aifd sown, in their stead, the seeds of
Gospel truth. Surely, Reginald Brandon, you
would not call such an existence wasted t"

"That would I not, indeed," replied the
young man, with emphasis ; " it is an angel's of-
fice !" he added, inaudibly, " and it is performed
by an angel J"

Although he could have talked, or listened, or.
the subject of the Prairie-bird for hours togeth-
er, Reginald began already to feel that sensitive
reserve respecting the mention of her name
to another which always accompanies even the
earliest dawnings of Idve ; and be turned the
conversation by inquiring of the venerable mis-
sionary, whether he would kindly communicate
something of his own history ; and explain how
he had come f^om so remote a distance to pass
the evening of life among the Indians.

" The tale is very brief, and the motives very
simple: I was born in Germany, and having
early embraced the tenets of the United Breth-
ren, of whom you have probably heard in that
country under the name of * Herrn-huter,' I re-
ceived a pressing invitation from Heckewalder,
then in England, to join him in his projected
missionary journey to North America. I gladly
accepted the ofier, and after a short stay in
London, embarked with that learned and amia-
ble man, — ^who soon became what he now is,—
the nearest and dearest friend I have on earth,
— and I placed myself under his guidance in the
prosecution of the grand objects of our under-
taking, which were these: — to endeavour to
convert the Indian nations to Christianity, not
as the Spaniards had pretended to attempt, by
fire^ and sword, and violence, but by going un-
armed and peaceably among them, studying
their languages, characters, and history; ana
while showing in our own persons an example
of piety and self-denial, to eradicate patiently
the more noxious plants from their moral con-
stitution, and to mould such as were good and
wholesome to the purposes of religious truth.
God be praised, our labours have no,t been alto-
gether without efiTect ; but I blush for my white
brethren when I confess that the greatest ob-
stacle to our success has been found in the vi-
ces, the open profligacy, the violence, and the
cruelty of those who have called themselves
Christians. Heckewalder has confined his ex-
ertions chiefly to the Indians remaining in Penn-
sylvania and the Western territory, mine have
been mostly employed among the wandering

Ta£ PRAIRIB-BIRD.

itHd.Viider tribes who iababtt tiua remote and
boandleds r^oa.'*

*'t liaye o^en heard yoQr pious friend's
name," said Reginald ; " he enljoys the reputa-
tion of being the most eminent Indian linguist
in our- country, and he is supposed to know the
Delaware language as well as^his own.*'

«* He is iiideed," said PaaU " the HKist skilful
and successful labourer in this rude, but not un-
fruitful vineyard ; now and then, at remote in-
tervals, I contrive, by means of some returning
hunter or Indian agent, to communicate with
him, and his letters always afiord me matter of
consolation and encouragement ; though I was
mttch cast down when he announced to me the
cruel and wanton, massacre of his Indian flock
near the basks of the Qhio."

*' I have heard of it," replied Reginald ; " I
regret to say that the outrage was committed
not very lar from the spot where my father
lives."

** Do y&fk live in that neighbourhood 1" ex-
elauned the missionary, suddenly catehing his
arm ; ** then you may, perhaps->hut no, it can-
not be," he muttered to himself. ** This youth
ean know nothing of it."

** My hoaoored friend," replied Reginald, co-
kmring at the idea suggested by the words which
he had overheard. '* I trust you do not believe
that my father or any of my kindred had a share
m those atrocities !"

"Yon misunderstood me altogether, I assure
you," answered the missionary ; " my exclama-
lift) had reference to another subject. But I
see Wair-Eagle coming this way ; probably he
is bent upon some hunting excursion in which
you may wish to be his companion."

" I shall gladly do so," replied Reginald, " as
soon as I have breakfasted ; my faithful follow-
er, Perrot, desired very much that I should taste
some collops of venison, which he said that he
could dress in a style somewhat superior tathat
of the Indian cookery. Will yon share them
with me 1"

The missionary excused himself, as he had
already taken his morning meal» and was about
to return to the tent of l^rairie-bird.

Reginald assured the good man of the pleas-
ure which he had found in his conversation, and
expressed a hope that he would be enabled soon
to enjoy it again, as there was much informa-
tion respecting the habits, religion, and charac-
ter of the difl^rent Indian tribes which he felt
anxious to acquire, and which none could be
better able to communicate.

" Whatever instruction or information I may
have collected during my residence among them,
is freely at your service," replied Paul MiiUer ;
** and if you find yourself in any difficulty or em-
barrassment where my advice ean be of use, you
may always command it. You know," be add-
ed, smiling, " they consider me great medicine,
and thus I am able to say and do many things
among them which would not be permitted in
another white man." So saying, he shook hands
with Reginald, and returned slowly towards the
encampment

War-Eagle now came up, and greeting his
friend with his usual cordiality, inquired whether
he would accompany him in the chase of the elk,
herds of which had been seen at no great dis-
tanoe. Rfgioiild acceded to the proposal, and,

having hastily despatched the colleips prepared
by Perrot, the two friends left the village oa
fopt, and took their way towards the timber in
the valley.

The ilay was hot, and the speed at which the
agile. Indian unconsciously strode along, would
have soon discomfited a less active p^estrian
than Reginald ; but having been well seasoned
in his hunting exenrsions with Baptiste, he found
no difficulty in keeping pace with, his firiend, and
amused himself as thc^ went, by asking him m
variety of questions respecting the country, the
tribe, and its language, to all of which War-
Eagle replied with much intelligence and ean*
dour.

As Reginald had not seen Wingenand, he
asked his compianion how it happen^ that the
youth did not accompany them. " He is gonOi**
rqdied War-Eagle, "to bring turkeys to the

j»

camp

** Does he shoot themi" inquired Reginald.

" No, he takeis thorn— my white broiler shall
see ; it is not far from the Elk Path."

When they reached the wooded bottom, War«
Eagle struck into a small track which seemed
to have been made by a streamlet in spring, and,
having followed it for about a mile, they came
to a- more open woodland scene, where the Iii->
dian pointed, as they passed along, to scattered
feathers and foot- tracks of turkeys in abundance.
They had not proceeded far, when he ottered a
low exclamation of surprise as he discovered
Wingenund stretched at the foot of a tree, with
his eyes busily fixed upon something which he
held in his hand, and which so riveted his at-
tention that he was not aware of thei> approach.
Beside him lay tWo old and two young turkeys
which he had caught and killed ; the friends had
not looked at him many seoonds, before he raised
his eyes and perceived them ; starting to his feet
he made an ineffectual attempt to conceal that
which he had been holding in his hand, wfairli
was, in fact, a sheet of coarse white paper.
Reginald drew near and said to him, " Gonoe^
Wingenund, you must show Netis what you hold
in your hand » I am sure it is no harm, and if it
is a secret, I willkeep it."

Wingenund, in some confusion, handed the
scroll to Reginald, who saw at the first glance
that it was a fragment of an elementary vocabu-
lary of Delaware and English words, written in
a free, bold character ; he ran his eye over the
paper .«rhibh contained chiefly phrases of the
most simple kind, such as **N^menne^ I drink,"
" iV^ant pa vn, I stand," *' i'okelan, it rains,**
" Loo, true," " Yitni, this," "Na-ni, that," Ac.,
<Scc. ; and a smile came over his features when
his eye met -his own name, ** Netis," with its '
translation, " dei^r friend." Below this he read,
"N'quti," Nisha, Nacha, Nowo, and a succes-
sion of single words, which he rightly conjec-
tured to be numerals, I, 2, 3, 4, dec, and at th»
bottom of the page was a long sentence in the
Lenape tongue, which began as follows : ** Kt
wetoehemdenk talli epian 0wassagame, 6i,0,**-^
*' What is this last sentence, Wingenund 1" 2»-
•quired Reginald.

" It is the inrayer," replied the youth, *' tha^
the Good Spirit taught the white men to 8a7>
when he came to live among them."

" And who wrote all these words for you !" »

«( Prairie-bird wrote them, and every day ah*

THB PBAIItlB-BIRQ.

m

teacjiee me to !Ul<kl3^od the 9iar|[9 on the
paper,"

H^nald'8 eyes strayed uoconsciously to that
part of the ebeet where he had seen his own
name written by the Prairie-bird's hand. " Hap-
py boy !*' he mentally ejaculated, " to sit at her
feet and draw instruction from her lips ! With
Buch a teacher, methinks I could learn the
hcoape tongue in a month!— What says my
brother 1" he continued, aloud, addressing War-
Eagle, whose fine countenance wore an expres-
sion of indifference, almost amounting to con-
tempt — ^" What says my brother of this paper.?'*

"It is perhaps good,'* replied the Indian, grave-
ly ; ** for the black father, and for the white man
-^ut not ibr the Lenape. The Great Spvrit has
given him a heart to feel, and a hand to fight,
and eyes to see the smallest track on the grass
—that is enoagh. Our fathers knew no more,
and they were great, and strong, and brave !
Chiefs among the nations ! What are we now
-i-few, and weak, and wandering; it is better
for as to live and die like them, add we shall
hunt with ihem in the happy fields. Let us go
Mid show Netis where Wlngenund takes the
turkeys.** So saying, he turned and led the
vffY, fcidowed by his two companions.

CHAPTER XXL

•■ snivAl at Moftriiamww— A calm ashora aiter a stonn

atf«s. #

Whzlb the events, uarrated in the preceding
chapter, were occurring in the Western wilder-
less, the family at Mooshanne had been thrown
mto a state of the greatest dismay and confu-
•ion, bV the arrival of Captain L'Estrange*s
first letter, announcing the flight of Ethelston
with his daughter, and depicting his conduct in
the blackest colours. Colonel Brandon had pe-
rused its contents half d dozen times, and they
had produced traces of an^^iety upon his coun-
tenance, too evident to escape the observation
of Lucy, 80 that he was obliged to break to her
by degrees the painful intelligence of her lover's
infidelity ; with a calmness that si^prised him,
she insisted on reading; the letter ; as she pro-
ceeded her brow crimsoned with indignation,
and those blue eyes, usually beaming with the
gentlest expression, flushed with an angry lus-
tre.

Colonel Brandon knew full well the afifection
she had long conceived for Ethelston, and though
bis own feelings were deeply wounded by the
tnisconduct of one whom he had loved and
trailed as a son, they were, at present, over-
powered by the fears which he entertained of
the effect which this unexpected blow might
produce pa Lucy*s health and happiness. He
was, therefore, relieved by observing the an-
ger expressed on her countenance, and prepar-
ed himself to hear the deserved reproaches on
oer former lover, which seemed ready to burst
from her tongue. What was his surprise
when he saw her tear the letter in pieces before
his face, and heard her, while she set her pretty
little foot upon them, exclaim,

** Dear, dear father, how could you for a mo-
ment believe such a tale of vile, atrocious false-
TwodV

I However disinelined the Colonel might be te
believe anything to the disadvantage of Ethel-
ston, there was so much circumstantial evideqce
to condemn him. that he felt it his duty to pre-
pare his child for the worst at once, and t«
point out to her how they already knew that
Ethelston had been wounded and conveyed to
the bouse of L'Estrange, that his long absence
was unexplained, and lastly that the character
of the French 'Commodore, as an officer and a
man of honoqr, was unimpeached.

Lucy heard him to the end, the glow on her
cheek assumed a warmer hue and the little foot
beat with a nervous and scarcely perceptible
motion on the floor, as she replied, ** Father, I
will believe that the letter is a forgery, or that
the French officer, or Commodore, or Admimt,
is a madman^ but never that Ethelston is a vil-
lain."

" My dear Lucy," said the Colonel ; " I am
almost as unwilling to think ill of Ethelston as
you can he yourself; but, alas! I have seen
more than you of the inconstancy of men ; and
I know, too well, that many who have enjoyed
a good reputation, have yet been found unable
to withstand temptation, such as may have be-
set Ethelston while an inmate of the same house
with the Creole beauty — "

^ Dear Father,*' answered Lucy, colouring yet
more deeply ; though it were possible that Ethel-
ston, in the presence of greater attractions, may
have yielded to them his aff*ections and with-
drawn thepi from one who had hoped to possess
and treasure theju for life, though this may be
possible, it is not possible that he should be
guilty of a violation of the laws of hospitality
and honour, such as that slanderous paper lays
to his charge ; promise me, dearest father, te
suspend your belief, and never to speak on this
subject again, until it is God's pleasure that the
truth shall be brought to light."

" I promise you, my sweet child,**^ said her
father; "and may that Merciful Being grant
that your trust be not disappointed."

" I have no fears," said Lucy, and as she
spoke her eyes beamed with that full undoubt-
ing love, such ss can only be felt by one who
has never known what it is to deceive or to be
deceived.

Days and weeks passed on without any intel-
ligence of Ethelston ; and while the fears of
Colonel Brandon become more confirmed, the
agony of suspense, and the sickness of deferred
hope began to prey upon the spirits of his
daughter ; she never alluded to the forbiddea
subject, but her nervous anxiety, when the week-
ly letter-bag was opened, clearly showed that
it was ever in her mind ; nevertheless she con-
tinued her occasional excursions to Marietta,
and visited, as usual, those around Mooshanne
who were sick or in distress, so that neither her
mother, nor aunt Mary, detected the anxiety by
which she was tortured. One evening, half an
hour before sunset, as the family party were
seated at their simple supper, the platter of a
horse*s hoofs was heard approaching at full
speed, from whioh the rider dismounted, and
lifting the latch of the unlocked door, entered
the house. Traversing the vestibule with has-
ty strides, and apparently guided by instinct to
the apartment in which the family were assem-
bled, he thtpw open the door, and Ethelston stood

6S

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD

befoiD the astonished partf . His countenance
was haggard from fatigue and exposure to the
BUR, and his whole appearance indicated ezhaus-
ion. Lucy turned deadly pale, and Colonel
Brandon's constrained manner, as he rose from
his chair, must have conyinced the new comer
that his return was productive of other feelings
than those of unmingled pleasure. He was
moving, however, a few steps forward to pay
his first respects to Mrs. Brandon, when the
Colonel, touching him lightly on the arm, said,
" Mr. Eihelston, I must crave a few words with
you in the adjoining room."

Hitherto Lucy had remained silent, with her
eyes fixed intently on Ethelston's countenance,
he returned her look with one as long and fix-
ed, the expression of his eyes was mournful,
rather than joyous, but there was no trace of
uneasiness or of shame. Springing from her
seat, she placed her hand imploringly on the
Coloners arm, saying,

"Dear father, I told you so from the first —
I knew it always-— I read it now plain as the
sun in heaven — ^that vile letter was a string of
falsehoods— ^he is returned as he left us, with an
untarnished honour.^'

"Thank you, dear Lucy," said Ethelston, ad-
vancing and pressing her extended hands to his
lips ; " blessings on that trusting afiTection which
has rendered it impossible for you to believe
ought to the prejudice of one on whom you have
deigned to fix it. Colonel Brandon,'* he con-^
tinued. " I can guess how you have been misled,
and appearances were, for a sbert time, so muci
against me, that I acquit, of all intentional ma-
ice, those who have misled you-! Judge for
yourself whether, if I were stained by the crime
of Which I have been accused, I could now asl,
on my bended knee, for the blessing of you, my
second father, and thus hold in mine, as I daie
to do, the hand of your pure, trusting, and belov-
ed child."

There was a truth in every lone of his voice,
and a convincing dignity in his man«.er that
swept away all doubts like a torrent : the Colo-
nel embraced him with cordial ^ffection : Aunt
Mary kissed her favourite nephew over and uver
again, Mrs. Brandon wept tears of joy on l^is
neck, and Lucy was so overpowered with de-
light, that she was perhaps scarcely conscious
of all that passed around.

After they were in some degree recovered
from their emotion, and had pressed Ethelston
to take some refreshment ; he said to the Colo-
nel, " Now I am prepared to give you an account
of my adventures, and to explain those circum-
stances that led to the misunderstanding under
which you have so long laboured." ^

" Not a word — ^not a word will I hear of ex-
planation, to-night, my dear boy," replied the
Colonel. " I am already ashamed that I have
not shown the same undoubting confidence in
your rectitude both of purpose and conduct, that
has been evir^ed .from first to last by Lucy,
t'ou are weary and exhausted, the agitation of
this scene has been.trying to all of us ; we ^ill
defer your narrative until to-morrow. Our first
duty this evening, is to return our thanks to
Providencerfor having protected yon through all
danger, and restored you safe to the comforts of
home."

As he spokei the worth}- old gentleman took

down a bible from the shelf, and, having desired
Lucy to summon all the servants into the room,
he read an appropriate chapter, and added to
the selected prayer for the evening, a few im->
pressive and affecting words of thanksgiving;
for the safe return of the long lost member of
the family.

This duty was scarcely concluded, when the
outer door was violently opened ; a heavy step
was heard approaching, and, without waiting tff
be admitted or announced^ the sturdy figfire of
Gregson entered the room.

"The captain himself, as I live," said the
honest mate. " Beg pardon. Colonel Brandon*
but I heard a report of his having been seen
going ten knots an hour through Marietta. So
I up sticks, made sail, and was in his wake in
less time tlian our nigger cook takes to toss off
a glass of grog."

. ** Give me your hand, Gregson," said Ethel-
ston, kindly ; " there is not a truer, or an hon-
ester one between Marietta and China."

"Thank ye, thank ye, Captain,*' said the
mate, giving him a squeeze that would have
broken the knuckles of any hand but a sailor's ;
" the flipper's well enough in its way, and I trust
the heart's somewhere about the right plao0
but what the devil have they been at with you
in Guadaloupe," be added, observing his chiefs
wearied and wasted appearance ; " considering
how long those rascally Frenchmen have had
you in dock, they've sent you to sea in a pre-
cious state, both as to hull and rigging."

" I confess I am not over ship-shape," said
Ethelston, laughing, " but my present condition
is more owing to the fatigues of my tedious
journey from New Orleans, than to any neglect
on the part of the Frenchmen."

The Colonel now invited the worthy mate tg
be seated, and Lucy brewed for him, with hei
own fair fingers, a large tumbler of toddy, int«
which, by her father's desire, she poured an
extra glass of rum. Ethelston, pretending to
be jealous of this favour, msisted on hi& right
to a draught, containing less potent ingredientSL
but administered by the same hand, and an ani-
mated conversation ensued, in the counie of
which Oregon inquired after the welfare cf hia
old friend Cupid, the black cook.

" Poor fellow, he is no more," replied Ethel-
ston, in a tone of deep feeling ; " he died as ht
had lived, proud, brave, faitlUul to the last. 1
cannot tell you the story now, it is too sad a
one for this our first evening at home ;" as h«
spoke, his eyet» met those of Lucy, and there
he read all that his overcharged hbart desired
to know.

Soon after the allusion to this melancholy
incident, the little party broke up ; the evening
being already far advanced, Gregson returned
to Marietta ; and the members of the colonel's
family retired to their respective apartments,
leaving Ethelston alone in the drawing-room.
For a few minutes he walked up and down» and
pressed his hand upon his forehead, which
throbbed with jrarious and deep emotions. He
took up the music whereon Lucy had written
her name, the needle- work on which her fingers
had been employed ; he sat down on the chair
she had just left, as if to satisfy himself with
the assurance that all around him was not a
dream ; and again he vented the full gratitude

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD

€$

o t»» heaxt in a brief but earnest ejaculation
of thanksgiving. After a short indulgence in
iuch meditations, he retired to that rest of
which he stood so much in need. The room
that bad been prepared for him was up stairs,
and, on crossing a broad passage that led to it,
he suddenly met Lucy, who was returning to
her own from her mother's apartment. Whether
this meeting was purely accidental, or whether
Luc; remembering that she had not said Good-
night, quite distinctly to her lover, lingered in
her mother's room until she heard his step on
the stair, we have no means of ascertaining,
and therefore leave it undecided ; certain it is,
however, that they did meet in the passage
above mentioned, and that Ethelston putting
iown his candle on a table that stood by, took
Lucy's unresisting hand and pressed it in his
own ; he gazed on her blushing cquntenance
ipith an intensity that can only be understood
by those who, like him, have been suddenly
restored to a beloved one, whose image had
been ever present during a long absence, as-
suaging the pain of sickness, comforting him in
trials, dwelling with him in the solitude of a
prison, and sustaining him, in the extremest
perils of the storm, the fight, and the shipwreck !
Though he had never been formally betrothed
to her in Vordd, and though his heart was now
too full to give utterance to them, he had heard
enough below to satisfy him that she had never
ioubted his faith — he felt that their troth was
UcAily plighted to each other, and now it was
almost unconsciously that their lips met and
sealed the unspoken contract.

That first, long, passionate, kiss of requited
love ! Its raptures have been the theme of
glowing prose, of impassioned verse, in all ages
and climes ; the powers of language have beien
exhausted upon it, the tongue ana the pen of
Genius have, for centuries borrowed for its de-
scription the warmest hues of fancy and imagi-
nation — and yet how far short do they fall of
the reality ! how impossible to express in words
an electric torrent of feeling, more tumultuous
than joy, more burning than the desert's thirst,
—yet sweeter and more delicious than child-
hood's dream of Paradise, pouring over the
heart a stream of bliss, steeping the senses in
oblivion of all earthly cares, and so mysteriously
blending the physical with the immaterial ele-
ments of our nature, that we feel as if, in that
embrace, we could transfuse a portion of our soul
and spirit into the beloved object, on whose lip
that first kiss of long-treasured love is imprinted.

dnei and Ueciing mumenis! they are gone
almost before the mind is conscious of them !
They could not, indeed, be otherwise than brief,
for the agony of joy is tike that, of pain, and
exhausted nature would sink under its continued
excess. Precious moments, indeed! to none
can they be known more than once in^ tife ; td
very many, they can never be knowli at all.
They can neither bo felt nor imagined by the
{Qore worldling, nor the sensualist ; the sources
of that stream of bliss must be unadulterated
%y aught low, or selfish ; it is not enough that

** Heart and ioqI and sense In concert move ;**

desire must go hand in hand with purity, and
virtue be the handmaid of passion, or the bliss-
£il scene wdl lose its fairest aj^d brightest hues.

The step of some servant was heard approach
ing, and Lucy, uttering a hasty good-night, r^
turned to her room, where she bolted her door,
and gaye herself up to the varied emotions by
which she was overcome. Tears bedewed hei
eyes, but they were not tears of grief; bet
bosom was agitated, but it was not the agi .a*
tion of sorrow ; her pillow was sleepless, but
she courted hot slumber, for her mind dw^t on
the events of the past day, and gratitude for
her lover's return, together with the full assu-
rance of his untarnished honour, and undimin-
ished affection, rendered her waking thoughts
sweeter than any that sleep could have bor-
rowed from the Land of Dreams.

On the following morning, after breakfast,
when the family were assembled in the librstry,
Ethelston, at the request of Colonel Brandon,
commenced the narrative of his adventures. As
the reader is already acquainted with them,
until the closing scene of poor Nina's life, we
shall make mention of that part of his tale, no
farther than to state that, so far as truth would
permit, in all that he told as well as all that he
forbore to tell, he feelingly endeavoured to
shield her memory from blame ; the sequel of
his story we shall give as narrated in his own
words.

** I remained only a few days with L'Estrange
after his daughter's death ; during which time I
used my best endeavours to console him ; but,
in spite of the afifectionate kindness which he
showed me, I felt that my presence must ever
recall and refresh the re^iembrance of his be-
reavement, and I was much relieved when tl e
arrival of one of his other marrjed daughters
with her family, gave me an excuse and an op-
portunity for withdrawing from Guadalrupe
The vessel which had brought them froa» Jsh
maica proposed to return inmiediately, and I
easily obtained L'Estrange's permission to sail
with her, only on the condition of not serving
against France during the continuance of these
hostilities : when I bade him farewell he was
much afiTected, and embraced me as if he were
parting with a son, so I have at least lie mel-
ancholy satisfaction of knowing that I retain
his best wishes and his esteem.

*• My voyage to Port-royal was prosperous ;
on arriving I found a brig laden with fruit just
about to sail, in a few days, for New Orleans.
I confess I did not much like the appearance
either of the vessel, or her commander, but
such was- my impatience to return to Moo-
shanne, that I believe I would have risked the
voyage in an open boat," here Ethelston looked
at Lucy, on whose countenance a blushing
smile showed that she well knew the meaning
of his words^ *'I embarked," he continued
** accompanied by my faithful Gupid, on board
the ' Dos Amigos ;' the captain was an ignorant
irum-drinking Creole, besides himself there was
only one white man in the crew, and the col-
oured men were from all countries and climates,
the most reckless and turbulent gang that I had
ever seen on board a ship. During the first
half of the voyage, the weather being favoura-
ble, we crept along the southern coast of Cuba
and past almost within sight of the Isla de Pi
nos, which I had so much causa to remember ,
thence we steered a northwesterly course, and
doubled the Cape of Saint Antonio in safety

««

THlfe FRAlRtfi.fitRD.

irhence we had a prospect of a fait nin to the
Balise ; t>ut, two days after we had lost sight
of the Cuban coast, it came on to blow a gale
of wind which gradaally increased until it be-
came almost a hurricane from the south-west.

The brig drove helplessly before it,* and from
tier leaky and shattered condition, as Well as
from the total want of seamanship. exhibited by
iter drunken captain, I hourly expected that she
would founder at sea ; for twenty -four hours the
gale continued with unabated violence, and the
weather was so thick that no object could be
discerned at two hundred yards distance ; I re-
mained constantly on deck, giving such assists
ance as I could render, and endeavouring to
keep the captain's lips from the rum-bottle^ to
which he had more frequent recourse as the
danger became more imminent. Being, at
length, wearied out, I threw myself in my
Rothes on my cot, and soon felt asleep. I know
not how long I slept, but I was awakened by a
iriolent shod, accompanied by a grating grind-
ing sound, from which I knew in an instant that
the brig had struck on a rock ; almost befbre I
fiad time to spring from my cot, Cupid dashed
into the cabin and seizing me .with the force of
tt giant, dragged me on deck. At this moment
the foremast fell with a tremendous crash, and
t heavy sea swept over the devoted vessel, car-
tying away the boatv all loose spars, and many
tf the crew ; Cupid and I held on by the main
figging and were not swept away ; but wave
a^er wave succeeded each other with resist-
less fury, and in a few moments we were both
struggling, half stunned and exhausted, in the
' abyss of waters, holding on convulsively to
a large hen-coop, which had providentially been
thrown between os.

** One wild shriek of despair reached my ear,
after which nothing was heard but the tp^ultu-
ous roar of the aiigry elements.*'

At this pait of £thelston*8 narrative, Lucy
eovered her face with her hands, as if she
would thereby shut out the dreadful view, and
In spite of all her struggle for self-comftiand, a
tear stole down her colourless cheek.

** It was, indeed, a fearful moment," he con-
tinued, *'.and yet I did not feel deserted by hope ;
I was prepared for death, I prayed fervently,
and I felt that my prayer was not unheard ;
even then, in the strife of foaming sea and
roaring blast, God sent the vision of an angel
lo comfort and sustain me ! It wore the form
of one who has ever dwelt in my thoughts by
day, and in my dreams by night ; who seemed
as near to me then, as she £>es now that her
gentle tears are flowing at this recital of my
trials."

While speaking the last words, his low voice
Irembled until it fell into a whisper, and Lucy,
overcome by h^r feeling, would have fallen from
faer chair, had not his ready arm supported her.'
A dead silenced reigned in the room. Aunt Mary
% wept aloud, and Colonel Brandon walked to the
window to conceal his emotion. After a few
aiinutes, as she turned again towards them ;
Ethelston, who still supported Lucy, beckoned
kim to approach, and addressing him in a tone
of deep and earnest feeling, said,

" Colonel Brandon, my guardian, friend and
benefactor ; add yet xhis one to all your former
benefits, and my cup of grat'tude will be full in-

deed,'* as he spoke he tdoir the unresistlhg hand
of Lucy in his own ; the Colonel locked in*
quiringly and a^tionately at his daughter,
who did not speak, but raised her tearful eysa
to his. with an expression not to be misunder-
stood. Pressing their united hands betwee*
his own, and kissing Lucy's forehead he wbis*
pered, *

*• God bless you, my children :" after a pans«
he added, with a suppressed smile^ " Ethelstoi
shsdi finish his harrative piresently ;" and taking
Aunt Mary's arm he left the room.^

We will imitate the Colonel's discretion, and
forbear to intrude upon the sacred quiet of a
scene where the secret long-cherished love of
two overflowing hearts was at length un-
reservedly interchanged; we need only say^
that ere the Colonel returned with Aunt Mary, '
after an absence of half an hour, Lucy's tears
were dried, and her cheeks were suffused with
a mantling blush, as She sprung into her fa-
ther's arms, and held him in a long and Silent
embrace.

**. Come, my child," said the Colonel, whea
he had returned her affectionate caress ; ** sit
down, and let>us hear the conclusion of Ethel-
Bton's adventures — we left him in a i)erilous
plight, and I am anxious to hear h^w'he es*
caped from it.'/

*' Not without much sufibring, both of mind
and body, my dear sir," continued Ethelston in
a serious tone of voice ; '< for the sea dashed to
an fro with such violence the frail basket-work
to which Cupid and I were clinging, ihat more
than once I was almost forced to quit my hold,
and it was soon evident that its buoyant powei
was not sufficient to save us both, especially a«
Cupid'^B bulk and weight were commensurata
with his gigantic 'strength ; his coolness under
these trying circumstances was remarkable;
observing that I was almost fainting from the
effects of a severe blow on the head from a
floating piece of the wreck, he poured into my
mouth some rum from a small flask that ha
had contrived to secure, and then replacing the
stopper, thrust the flask into my breast pocket,
saying, " Capl'n drink 'more when he want :"
at this moment a large spar from the wreck
was driven past Cis, and the faithful creature
said, *< Capt'n, hencoop not big enough for two
Cupid swim and take spar to ride ;" and ere I
could stop him he loosed his hold and plunged
into the huge wave to seize the spar ; more I
could not see, for the spray dashed over me,
and the gloom and the breakers hid him in a
moment from my sight. I felt my strength fhil*
ing, but enough remained for me to loose a
strong silk kerchief from my neck, and to lash
myself firn&ly to the hencoop ; again and again
the wild sea broke over me : I felt a tremend
ous and stunning blow — as I thought, the last*
and I was no more conscious of what passed
around.

** When I recoverd my senses I found myseli
lying upon some soft branches, and sheltered by
low bushes, a few huifdred vanls from the sea*
beach ; two strange men were standing neai
me, and gave evident signs of satisfaction when
they saw my first attempts at speech and mo-
tion ; they made me swallow several morsels
of sea biscuit steeped in rum, and I was sooa
so far restored as to be able to sit up» and u

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

n

^em tlie parttcidan of mj situation. The
ttland near which the brig had been wrecked,
was one of the Tortagas ; the two men who
bad carried me up to a dry spot from the beach,
belonged to a small fishing-craft, which had put
in two days before the hurricane for a supply of
water, and in hopes of catching turtle. Their
vessel was securely moored in a little natural
harbour, protected by the outer ledge of rocks ;
the reef on which the brig had struck was up-
ward of a mile from the spot where they had
found me, and I could not learn from them that
tbey had seen any portion of her wreck, or any
ftai of her crew alive or dead.

" As 8000 as my bruised condition permitted
He to drag my limbs aloog, I commenced a
earefiil search along th^ low rocky shore, in
topes of learning ^methtng of the fate of Cu-
pid, and at length was horrified on discovering
die mutilated remains of the faithful creature,
among sofne crevices in the rocks. He had
dung to the spar which still lay beside him
with the pertinacious strength of despair ; his
hands and Umbs were dreadfully mangled, and
his skuU fractured by the violence with which
be had been drrven on the reef I remembered
how he had resigned the hencoop to save my
Mfe; and the grief that I evinced for bis loss
inoved.t^ compassion of the fisherman, who
aided me to bury him deceittly on the island.

•* We remained there two days longer, until
the gale bad subsided, during which time I
frequently visited poor Cupid's grave; and
though many of our countrymen would be
ashamed of owning such regret for one of bis col-
our, I confess that when on that lonely spot I
called to mind his faithful services, and his last
noble act of generous courage, I mourned him
as a friend and brother.

** When the fishing-smack put to sea, I pre-
vailed on her captain to visit the reef where the
brig had struck, but we found not a spar nor
plank remaining; nor am I to this moment
aware whether any others of her crew survived
the wreck, but it is more than probable that
they perished to a man. Upon the promise of
a considerable sum of money, I prevailed upon
the fisherm^ to give me a passage to New-
OrJeaos, where we arrived without accident or
adventure, and my ioipatience to reach home
Miy permitted me to stay in that city a few
liours, when, having provided myself with a
^orse, I rode on hither by forced marches, and
trrived in the travel-worn condition that you
•bserved yesterday."

CHAPTER XXII.

4b Elk-hunL— Reginald mokes his first essay in surg«ry.
—The reader Is admitted iaurf rairie-Bird's tent.

We left Reginald Brandon in the skirt of the
fore^ bounding the Western Prairie, accompa-
nied by Wiogenund and War-Eagle. The lat-
ter, having taken the lead, conducted his com-
panions through a considerable extent of
gnmnd, covered with bushes of alder and scrub-
oak, until they reached an open forest glade,
where the Indian pointed out to Reginald a
large square building, composed of rough logs,
and ooveied with the same material. In the

centre of one side was a low ap^ture or door,
about fifteen inches in heiglit, ta front of which
was a train of maize laid by Wingenund ; on
approaching this turkey-pen, or tnap, they ob-
served that there were already two prisoners, a
large gobbler and a female bird, although not ^
more than an hour had elapsed since the lad had
taken out the four turkeys which have been be-
fore mentioned. When the captives becaire
aware of the approach of the party, they ran
about the pen from side to side, thrusting ' o'4t
their long necks, peering through the crevices
in the logs, jumping and flying aga^st the top,
in their violent endeavours to escape.

** Do they never stoop their heads,'* inquired
Reginald, ** and go out at the aame door by
which they entered V*

••Never," replied Wingenund.

" That is singular,*' said Reginald, " for the
bird is in gener^ very sagacious and difficult to
be taken or killed ; — how does it happen that
they are so unaccountably stupid as not to go
out where they came in 1"

Before answering the question addressed to
him, Wingenund cast a diffident look towards
War-Eagle, and on receiving from the chief a
sign to reply, he said,

" Netis knows that the Qreat Spirit distrib-
utes the gifls of wisdom and cunning like the
sunshine and the storm, even the Black-Father
does not understand all his ways. How can
Wingenund tell why the turkey's eye is so
quick, his ear so sharp, bis legs so swijflt — ^and
yet he is sometimes a fool ; when he picks up
the maize, his head is low ; he walks through
the opening ; he is in a strange place ; he is
frightened; and fear takes from him all the
sense that the Great l^pirit had given him.
Wingenund knows no more."

*' My young brother speaks truly and wisely
beyond his years," said Reginald, kindly. ** It
is as you say, fear makes him forget all the ca-
pacities of his nature ; it is so with men — ^why
should it be Otherwise with birds 1 Does War-
Eagle say nothing r*

*' My brother's words are true," replied the
chief, gravely ; ** he has picked out one arrow,
but many remain in the quiver."

** My brother speaks riddles," said Reginald.
** I do not understand him."

** Fear is a bad spirit," replied the chief, rais-
ing his arm and speaking with energy. "It
creeps round the heart of a woman, and crawls
among the lodges of the Dacotahs ; it makes
the deer leap into* the river when he would be
safer in the thicket ; it makes the turkey a fool
and keeps him iU the pen : but there are other
bad spirits that make the heart crodced and the
eyes blind."

** Tell me, how sol" inquired Reginald, de-
sirous of encouraging his Indian friend to con
tinue his illustration.

** Does my brother know the antelope," re '
plied War* Eagle; ''he is very cunning and
swift; his eye is quick as the turkey's; the
hunter could not overtake him: but he lies
down in a hollow and hides himself ; he fastens
a tuft of grass to his bow and holds it over his
head ; the Bad Spirit gets into the antelope ; he
becomes a fool ; he comes nearer and nearer tc
look at the strange sight ;— the hunter shoots
and he dies. There are many bad spirits. The

78

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

Wyandot who strrfck at my white brother, he was
a cunning snake ; he had taken scalps, the ball
of his rifle did not wander ; if he had crept in
the bashes on my brother's path, Netis would
now be in the happy hunting-fields of the white
warriors. But a Bad Spirit took him ; he of-
fered food while his heart was false, and he
thrust his head under the tomahawk of War-
l^agle. There are many bad spirits. I have
spoken."

Heginald listened with interest to these sen-
timents of his Indian friend, expressed, as they^
were, in noken sentences and in broken Eng-
lish, the purport of them being, however, exact-
ly couTeyed in the foregoing sentences ; but he
refrained from pursuing the subject farther, ob-
serving that War-Eagle was slinging the tur-
keys over Wingenund's shoulder, and preparing
to pursue their course/ in search of the elk.
Leaving the youth to return with his feathered
burden to the encampment, the two friends con-
tinued their excursion, War-Eagle leading the
way, and stopping every now and then to ex-
amine such tracks as appeared to him worthy of
notice. They had not proceeded far, when they
reached a Spot where the path which they were
following crossed a small rivulet, and, the soil
being soft on its bank, ther^ were numerous
hoof- prints of deer and elk, but so confused by
the trampling of the' different ^nimals, that
Reginald could not distinguish the one from the
cth*»r. It was not so, however, with the Indian,
'fir pointing downward to a track at his foot,
he iKiade a sign, by raising both his hands above
his head, to indicate a pair of antlers, and whis-
pered to Reginald " very big."

*' An elkl" inquired the latter; making a si-
lent affirmative sign, War-Eagle pursued tfhe
trail which conducted them to the top of a small
riaing groundf«i^,here it appeared to branch in
several direetionlf^d became almost impercep-
tible from the shortness of the grass and the
hardness of the soil. ; But these seemed to offer
no impediment to the Indian's pursuit of his
quarry, for turning short at a right angle to their
former course, he descended the hillock in a
different direction, walking with a swifl noise-
less step as if he saw his game before him.

Reginald*s surprise overcame even his eager-
ness for the sport, trained as he had been in the
woods, and justly held one of the quickest and
most skilful hunters in the territory; he bad
looked in vain on the ground which tbex.were
now traversing for the slightest point or foot-
mark ; touching, therefore, his friend lightly on
his shoulder, he whispered, " Does my bA)ther
guess the elk's path 1 — or can he smell it like
the Spaniard's dog?"

A good-humoured smile played on the Dela-
ware's lip as he replied, " The trail of the elk is
broad and easy ; War-Eagle could follow H by
the moon's light ! 'My white brother will see ;
he is an elk chief; his squaws are with him."

As he spoke he showed several marks which
Reginald could scarcely distinguish on the short
grass; a few yards farther War-Eagle added,
pointing to a low bush beside them, <' If Netis
does not see the elk's foot, he can see his teeth."

On examining the bush Reginald perceived
that a small fresh twig from the side of it had
been recently cropped, and suppressing his as-
lODishment at his friend's sagacity- in following

with such apparent ease a trail that to him was
scarcely discernible, he allciwed him to proceed
without farther interruption, closely watching
his every movement, in th<e hope that he might
be able to discover some of the indications by
which the Indian was guided. Moving lightfy fot
ward, they soon had occasion again to cross thd
brook before mentioned ; and on the soft edg9
of its banks, War^Eagle pointed in silence to the
track of the large hoof of the elk, and^to the
smaller print left by the feet of its female com-
panions. Desiring Reginald to remain still, the
Indian now crept stealthily forward to the t<ip
of a small hillock covered with brushwood,
where he lay for a few seconds with his ear
touching the gronnd. Having once raised bi«
head to look through a low bnsh in front of hinv,
he sank again upon the grodnd, and made a aig*
nal for his friend to creep to the spot. Regi'
nald obeyed, and peering cautiously throa^ the
leaves of the same bash, he saw the stately e!lr
browsing at a distance of a hundred and fifty
yards/the two hinds being beyond him ; the in-
tervening ground being barren and almost fiat,
offering no cover for a nearer af^roach, his first
Impulse was to -raise his rifle for ^ distant shot ;
but War-Eagle, gently pressing down the bar-
rel, motioned him to crouch t^hind the bush.
When they were again concealed, the Delaware
whispered to his friend, that he would go round
and creep on the elk from the opposite quarter.

Reginald in reply pointed to the top- branches
of a young poplar gently waving in the breeze.

** War-Eagle knows it," said the Indian grave-
ly, ''the wind is from that quarter ; it is not
good ; but he will try ; if elk smell him, he
comes this way, and Neti^ shoot him." So say-
ing, he crept down the little hillock by the same
I^ath which they had followed in the ascent, and
then striking off in an oblique direction was
sooq lost to view.

Reginald, still concealed behind the bush,
silent and motionless, with his hand on the lock
of his rifle, watched intently every movement
of the.antlered monarch of the woods ; the lat- «,
tar, unconscious of danger, lazily piciked the
tenderest shoots from the surrounding bushes,
or tossed his lofty head to and fro, as if to dis-
play the ease and grace with which it bore those
enormous antlers. More than once, as he turned
to brush ofl^from his side some troublesoQie fly,
Reginald thought he had become suddenly aware
of the Indian's approach ; but it was not so, foi
in spite of the disadvantage of the wind, the
practised Delaware moved towards his unsus«
pecting prey with the stealthy creep of a panther.
Reginald's impatience was such that minutes
seemed to him hours; and his fingers played
with the lock of his rifle, as if he could no longer
control their movement; at length a sudden
snort from one of the hinds announced that she
smelt or heard some object of alarm as she came
trotting to the side of her lordly protector.

Turning himself to windward, and throwing
forward bis ears, the elk listened for a moment,
while his upturned and wide distended nostril
snuffed the breeze, to discover the danger of
which he had been warned by his mate. That
moment was not lost by the Delaware, and the
report of his itee echoed through the forest.
Tossing his heidiWl^ a sudden start the elk
fled from his now "discovered foe, and v«li9

» V

THE PRAIRI&.BIRD.

73

boimdtog ever the barren space hi front of the
tash where Reginald was concealed. With a
coolness that did great credit to his nerves as a
hooter, the latter remained motionless, with hie
eye on the game and his finger on the trigger,
ontU the elk passed his station at speed ; then
he fired, and with so true an aim, that ere it had
gone fifty yards, the noble beast fell to the earth,
and immediately Reginald's hunting koife put an
end to its pain and to its life. The young man
looked over "the quarry with pride and pleasure,
for it was the largest he had ever seen ; vnd the,
•hot (which had pierced the heart) was well cal-
culated to raise War-Ease's opinion of his skill
in wood-craft. While he was still contemplating
the animal's bulk and fine proportions, the ex-
clamation */ good t" uttered in English, gave him
the first notice that the Delaware was at his side.

" Ha ! my friend,'' aaid Reginald, grasping bis
hand cordially; "you sent him down towards
me in fine style. Tell me, War-Eagle, are there
many elks as large in this country V*

"Not many," replied the Indian; "War-
Eagle told his white brother, that the elk's foot
oa the trail was big.**

*• Was my brother very far when he shot 1'*
inquired Reginald ; " when bis rifie speaks, the
bail does not wander in the air."

"War-£agle was far," replied the Indian,
quietly, *' but the elk carries the mark of his
rifle — Netis shot better;" on examination, it
appeared that the chief was right. His bullet
had passed through the fleshy part of the ani-
mal's neck,~ but not having cut the wind- pipe,
the wound was not mortal, and hut little blood
had flowed from it.

While the Indian was busied in skinning and
cutting up the elk, Reginald amused himself by
reconnoitring the ground over which his friend
had crept before he shot, and he was struck by
the extraordinary sagacity with wiiich the lat-
ter had made his approach; for on that side
.there were but few and scattered bushes, nor
was there any rugged or broken ground favour-
able for concealment.

When the choicest portions of meat were duly
separated and enveloped in the skin, War-Ea-
gle hung them up on an adjacent tree, care-
My rubbing damp powder over the covering,
to protect the meat from the wolves and carrion
birds; after which the friends proceeded on
their excursion. ^

Having found fresh tracks of elk leading to-
wards the open prairie, they followed them, and
succeeded in killing two more, after which they
returned to the encampment, whence War-
Eagle despatched a young Indian with a horse,
and with directions as to the locality of the
meat, which he was instructed to bring home.

As Reginald walked through the lodges of
the Osage village, he -observed a crowd of In-
dians collected before one of them, and curiosi-
ty prompted him to turn aside and observe what
might be passing. Making his way without dif-
ficulty through the outer circle of spectators, he
found himself before a lodge, in front of which
a wounded boy of twelve or fourteen years of
age, was extended on a butfalo-robe. On in-
quiry, Reginald learned from an Indian who
could ppeak a few words of English, that the
lad had been struck down and trampled on by a
viciooa horse ; although no sound escaped from

his lips, the involuntary writhing of the youth-
ful sufferer showed the acuteness of the paia
which he endured ; while a bulky Indian, in the
garb of an Osage Medicine-man, was displaying
beside him the various absurd mummeries of
his vocation.

This native quack was naked to the waist ;
his breast and back being painted over with
representations of snakes and lizards. Instead
of the usual breech-cloth, or middle garment,
he wore a kind of apron of antelope sk^ns,
hemnied, or skirted with feathers of various
colours : the borders of his leggings{were also
adorned with the wing^ of an owl ; in one band
he held a tomahawk, the hafl of which was
painted white, and in the other a hollow gourd
containing a few hard beans, or stones of the wild
cherry, which latter instrument he rattled inces-
santly round the head of his patient, aceompa*
nying this ^Esculapian music with the most
grotesque gesticulations, and a sort of moaning
howl — all these being intended to exorcise and
4rive away the evil spirit of pain.

While Reginald was contemplating the strange
spectacle with mingled curiosity and compas-
sion, he heard a confused murmur among those
Indians nearest to the corner of the lodge, and
thoiSght he could distinguish the name of Oliti-
pa ; nor was he mistaken, for almost immedi-
ately afterwards the crowd divided, and Prairie-
bird appeared before the lodge. Her dress was
the same as that in which Reginald had before
seen her, excepting that, in place of the chaplet
of wild flowers, she wore on her^ead a turban
of party-coloured silk, the picturesque effect of
which, blending with her dark hair and the ori«
ental character of her beauty, reminded our hero
of those Circassian enchantres$es whom he had
read of in eastern fable, as ruling satrap or sul«
tan, with a power more despotic than his own ^

Prairie-bird, walking gently forward with
modest self-possession, took her place by th«
side of the sufiTerer, as if unconscious of the nu-
merous eyes that were observing all her move-
ments ; the Medicine-man, whose exorcisms
had been hitherto attended with no success,
retreated into the lodge, whence he narrowly
and silently observed the proceedings of his fail
rival in the healing art.

It was not difficult for Prairie-bird to ascer-
tain that the boy*s hurts were very serious, foi
the hot brow, the dry lip, the involuntary con-
tortions of the frame, gave clear evidence of
acute pain and fever. She deeply regretted
that the Missionary had been absent when she
was summoned, as his assistance would have
been most useful, nevertheless, she resolved to
do all in her power towards the mitigation of
sufferings, the cure of which seemed beyond
the reach of her simple remedies. Opening a
bag that hung at her girdle, she drew from it
some linen bandage, and various salves and
simples, together with a suiall case of instru-
ments belonging to Paul Muller, and kneeling
by her ^ young patient's side, she breathed a
short, but earnest prayer for the blessing of
Heaven on her humble exertions. During this
pause, the Indians observed a strict and atten-
tive silence ; and Reginald felt a kind of awe
mingle itself with his impassioned admiration-
as he contemplated the unaffected simplicitv
and loveliness of her kneeling figure

n

THE PRAIRIE. BIUII.

A serioas wound in the yonng patient's tem^
lie claimed her first care, which having washed
end closed, she covered with a healing plaster,
but observing that the symptoms of fever had
rather increased than diminished, she knew that
the lancet should be immediately applied, and
cast her anxious eyes around in the hope that
the misionary might have heard of the accident,
and be now on his way to the lodge. While
looking' thus around, she became for the first
tiipe aware of Reginald's presence, and a slight
blush accompanied her recognition of him; but
her thoughts recurring immediately to the ob-
ject of her present attention, she asked him in
a clear low voice to come nearer, on which be
moved forward from the circle of spectators,
and stood before the lodge.

Prairie-bird, pointing to the form of the young
Indian, said in English, " The poor boy is much
hurt, he will, die if he is not bled ; the Black
Father is absent ; can Reginald take blood froQi
the arm 1" '

" I do not pretend to much skiU in surgerjr,
ffkiT Prairie-bird," replied the young man, smi-
ling; <^but I have learned to bleed my horse
and my dog, and if the necessity be urgent, me-
thinks I can open a vein in this boy's arm with-
out much risk of danger."

" It is indeed urgent," said the maiden, ear-
nestly ; *< here ar^ Paul Miiller's instruments ; I
pray you take a lancet and proceed without de-
lay.^^

Thus urged, Reginald selected a lancet, and
naving proved its sharpness, he passed a band-
age tightly round the sufferer's arm, and set
about his first surgical operation with Jbecoraing
care and gravity, the Osages drawing near and
looking on in attentive silence. Before apply-
ing the lancet, he said in a low voice to Prairie-
bird, " Must I allow a considerable quantity of
blood to flow 'ere I staunch iti" and on her
making an affirmative sign, he added, " Let me
entreat you to turn your eyes away, it is not a
fitting sight for them, and they might affect the
steadiness of my nerves."

With a deep blush Prairie-bird cast down her
eyes, and began to employ them busily in search-
ing her little bag for some cordial drinks and
healing ointment, to be administered after the
bleeding should be over.

Reginald acquitted himself of his task with
skill and with complete success, and found no
difficulty in staunching the blood, and placing a
proper bandage on the arm ; after which the
restoratives prepared by Prairie- bird were ap-
plied, and in a very short time they had the
satisfaction of finding the symptoms of fever
and pain subside, and were able to leave the
youthful patient to repose, Prairie-bird promis-
ing to visit him again on the morrow.

An elderly brave of the Osages now stepped
forward, and presented Prairie- bird with a gir-
lie of cloth, ornamented with feathers, quills,
and beads of the gayest colours, an offering
which she received with that modest grace
which was inseparable frcim her every move-
ment ; the same brave (who was, in fact, the
father of the wounded boy), presented Reginald
with a painted' buflhlo robe. Which, as soon as
he had displayed its strange designs and devi-
ces, he desired a young Indian to convey to the
^bite chief's lodge. Oar hero having; in re-

/ turn, given to the Osage a knKe with an ofaa-
mented sheath, which be had worn, in addition
to his own, in case of being suddenly called
upon to make such a 'present, prepared toae-
compatiy Prairie-bird to her lodge. '

As they left the circle, I^eginald's eye en«
countered that of Mahega, fixed with a scowling
expression on himself and his fair companion,
but be passed on without noticing the sullen
and haughty chief, being resolved not to involve
himself in any quarrel in her presence. T^y
walked slowly towards the lodge of Tamemind,
and it must be confessed that they did not take
exactly the shortest path to it, Reginald leading
the way, and Prairie-bird following his ocea
sional deviations with man^ous ac^uiee
cence.

The young man turned the eonversi\tion on
the character of Paul Mdller, knowing it to be
a subject agreeable to Prairie-bird, and well oal-
caiated to give biik an opptnrtunity of listening
to that voice which was already music to his
ear; nor was he disappointed, for she spoke of
him with all the warmth of the most affection-
ate regard ; and the expression of her feelings
imparted such eloquence to her tongue and to
her beaming eyes, that Reginald looked and
listened in enraptured silenca As they drew
near her tent, she suddenly checked herself, and
looking up in his face with an archness that
was irresistible, said, " Pray pardon me, I have
been talking all this time, when I ought to liave
been listening to you, who are so much wiser
than myself."

" Say not so," replied Reginald, with an ear*
nestness that he attempted not to conceal;
" say not so, I only regret that we have already
reached your tent, for I should never be wear?
of listening to year voice."

Prairie-bird replied with that ingenuouA sim-
plicity peculiar to her :

" I am glad to bear you say so, for I know
you speak the truth, and it makes me very hap^
py to give you pleasure; now I must go into
my tent."

So saying she held out her band to him, and
nothing but the presence of several Indians loi-
tering near, prevented bis obeying the impulse
whjch prompted him to press it to -his lips ;
checking it by 'an effort of prudence, he with-
drew into the lodge of Tamenund, and mused
on the qualities of this extraordinary child of
the wilderness, her beauty, her grace, her dig-
nity, and above all, that guileless simplicity that
distinguished her beyond all that he had ever
seen ; ip short, he mused so long on the subject
that we will leave him to his meditations, as
we fear it must be confessed that he was al-
most, if not quite, " in love," and the reflections
of parties so circumstanced, are rarely interest-
ing to others.

What were the feelings of Prairie-bird when
she once more found herself alone in her tent,
and vainly endeavoured to stiil the unwonted
tumult in her heart 1 Her thoughts^ in spite of
herself, would dwell on the companion who bad
escorted her frob the Osage lodge ; his words
still rang in her ears ; his image was before her
eyes; she felt ashamed that one, almost a
stranger, should thus absorb all her faculties,
and was the more ashamed from being con-
scious that she did not wish it were otherwise :

TUB PHAIRIE-BIRD.

n

ler heart told her that it would not exchange
its present state of tumult and subjection for its
finrmer condition of quiet and peace !

Lest the reader should be inclined to judge
her as hanshly as she judged herself, we will
beg him to remember the circumstances and
bi^ory of th is singular girl. Brought up among
^ roTing tribe of Indians, she had fortunately
ftllen into the hands of a family remarkable for
the highest virtues exhibited by that people;
the missionary, Paul Muller, had cultivated her
nnderstanding with the most affectiooaCe and
lealoue care ; and he was, with the exception
(^ an occasional tracer visiting the tribe, almost
the only man of her own race whom she had
teen ; and though entertaining towards Tame-
sand the gratitude which bis kindness to her
deserved, and towards War-Eagle and Winge*
fiund the aSbctionate regard of a sister, both
Che knowledge imparted by the missionary, and
ber own instinctive feeling bad taught her to
consider herself among them as a separate and
isolated being. These feelings she had of
course nourished in secret, bat they had not al-
together escaped the penetration of Wingenund,
who, it may be remembered, had told Reginald
OR their first meeting that the antelope was as
likely to pair with the elk, as was his eister to
choose a mate among the chiefs of the Osage
arthe Lenape.

• On the return of the two DelaWares ftom
letr excursion to the Muskingum, Wingenund
aad relatefi to Prairiebird the heroic gallantry
with whi^ the young white chief had plunged
into the river to save War-Eagle's life ; he had
lunted, with untutored but impassioned elo-
ilQence, the courage, the gentleness, the gener-
osity, of his new friend. Prairie-bird's own
imagination had filled up the picture, and the
Unseen preserver of her Indian brother was
therein associated with all the highest qualities
•tiat adorned the heroes of such tales as t,he had
jead 09 heard recounted by the missioaaYy.

Sbe had reached that age when the female
heart, unsupported by maternal protection, and
levered from the ties of kindred, naturally seeks
for something on which to rest its affection.
Are we then to wonder if, when Reginald Bran-
dos first stood before her, whea she saw in his
lioble form and expressive features all her se-
oiet imaginations more than realized* when he
addressed her in her own tongue, and in a tone
of voice gentie even to tenderness ; are We to
%roRder, or to blame, this nursling of the wil-
, demess, if the barriers of pride and reserve gave
way beheath the flood wiiich swept over them
with fresh and irresistible force! Often had
she, on various pretexts, made Wingenund re-
peat to her the adventures and occurrences of
his excnrsion to the Ohio ; and as the artless boy
described, in language as clear as his memory
Was tenacious, the dwelling of Reginald's father,
the range of buildings, the strange furniture, the
garden, the winding brook that bounded its en-
ciMore, and above all the fair features and win-
ning gentleness ci the Lily of Mooshanne,
Prairie-bh-d wonld cover her averted fac^ with
her hands, as if struggling to banish or to recal
some wild delusive dream, and her lips would
move in unconsciotts repetition ok ** Mooshan-
ne. ' Surprised at her agitation, Wingenund
had once so far laid adide the strictness of In-

dian reaerre as to inquire into its eaose, vat
she replied, with a mehineholy smile,

'* Wingenund has painted the Lily of Mooa
hanne in colours so soft and sweet, that Olitip^
longs to embrace and love her as a sister."

The boy fixed bis penetrating eye upon hei
conntenance, in deep expressive silence, but
the innate delicacy of his feeling triumphed, aaa
Prairie-bird*s secret meditations were thenca
forward undisturbed.

To return from this retrospective digression
Prairie-bird's tent was divided, by a partition ot
bnfiTalo skins, into two oompartmenta, in the
outer of which were her guitar, the books lem
ber by the missionary, a small table and twt
chairs or rather stools, the latter rudely but ef-
ficiently constructed by his own hands ; in the
corner also stood the chest, where his medi-
cines, instruments, and other few valuables
were deposited ; in the inner compartment was
a bed, composed of Mexican grass, stretohed
upon four wooden feet, and covered with dress-
ed antdope skins and blankets of the finest
quality. Here also was a chest containing hei
quaint but not ungraceful apparel, and the other
requisites for her simple toilet ; at night a fe*
male slave, a eaptive taken from one of the
southern tribes, slept in the outer compartment,
and* the ever watchful Wingenund stretched
himself on a bufllilo robe across the aperture,
so that the slumbers of the fair Prairie- bird
were securely guarded even during the absence
of Paul Muller; and when he was with the
tribe> his small tent was separated from hers
only by a partition of skins, which in case of
alarm might be cut open by a sh^fp knife in &
moment. There was, in truth, little fear for
the security of this extraordinary girl, who was
looked upon, as we have before observed, by all
the tribe with mingled awe and afifection.

In the outer of the two compartments ahoy»>
mentioned she was now sitting, with. her eyes
east upon the ground, and her fingers straymg
unconsciously over the strings of her guitar,
when she was aroused from her long reverie by
the soft voice of the female slave who had eiK-
tered unperceived, and who now said in the
Delaware tongue,

** Are Olitipa's ears shut, and Is the voice of
Wingenund strange to them V*

" Is my brother there 1" replied the maiden,
ashamed at her fit of absence ; "tell him, Lita,
that he is welcome.'*

The girl addree^ed by the name of Lita was
about seventeen years of age, small, and deli-
cately formed, exceedingly dark, her wild and
Chahgefiil countenance being rather of a gipsy
than of an Indian character. She had been ta-
ken, when a child, by a war-party which had
penetrated into the country of the Comanches,
a powerfhl and warlike tribtf still inhabiting the
extensive prairies on the Mexican and Tex-
ian fro I 'ipr. She was devotedly attached to
Prairie- ird, who treated her more like a friend
than a slave, but towards all others she obser-
ved a habitual and somewhat haughty silence ;
had her fate condemned her to any other lodge
in the encampment, the poor girl's life would
have been a continued succession of blows, la*
hour, and sufieriTfg ; fbr her spirit was indomi*
table, and Impracticable to every other control
than kindness ; but as the good-humoored Ta

76

THE PBAIRIB.-BIIU).

meniind had appropriated her services to his
favoarite child, she passed most of her time in
Olitipa's tent, and thus avoided th^ ill-usage to
which she might otherwise have been exposed.

Such was the girl who now went to the fold-
ing aperture of the tent, and desired Wingen-
nnd to come in. The youth entered, followed
by a boy bearing a large covered dish or basket
of wicker-work, which having placed on the
table, he withdrew. Prairie-bird could not fail'
to observe in her young brother's countenance
and carriage an unusual stateliness and dignity,
und she remarked at the same time, the circum-
stance of his having brought with him the boy
to carry her basket, a service which he had
been accustomed to perform with his own hands.
Making him a sign to sit down, she thus accost-
ed him in terms allusive to the customs of the
tribe : —

** Has m^ young brother dreamed 1 has the
breath of the Great Spnrit passed over his
sleep 1"

** It is so," replied Wingenund. ** The chiefs
and the braves have sat at the council-fire ; the
name of Wingenund was on their tongues, the
deeds of his fathers are not forgotten ; he is not
to do the work of squaws ; his name will he
heard among the warnors of the Lenape."

From this reply Prairie-bird knew that her
young brother was about to undergo the fasting
a&d other superstitions ordeals, through which
those youths were made to pass who wished to
be enrolled among the warriors of the tribe at
an earlier age than usual ; these superstitious
obervances were repusnant to her good sense
and enlightened understanding, and as she had
hitherto acted in the capacity of monitress and
instructress, she was perhaps not pleased at the
p/ospect of his suddenly breaking loose from
her gentle dominion; she said to him, there-
fore, in a tone more grave than usual:

" Wingenund has heard the Black-Father
speak ; were his ears shut 1 does he not know
that there is one God above, who rules the
world alone ! the totems,* and the symbols, and
the dreanis. of the medicine-men, are for those
poor Indians whose minds are under a cloild.
Wingenund cannot believe these things!*'

" My sister speaks wisely," replied the youth ;
" the wind cannot blow away her words ; but
Wingenund is of the Lenape^tbe ancient people;
he wishes to live and die among their braves ;
he must travel in the path that bis fathers have
trod, or the warriors will not call his name when
the hatchet is dug up."

'* Let not the hatchet be dug up," said the
maiden, anxiously. * *' Have I not told my bro-
ther that God is the avenger of blood spilt by
man ? why should his foot be set on the war-
path 1"

"While the hatchet is below the earth,"
replied the youth, in the low, musical accent of
his tribe, ** Wingenund will sit by his sister and
listen to her wisdom ; he will go out with War-
Eagle and bring back the skin of the antelope

* Eveqr warrior belonging to the Lenape, Saokee, and
all the branches of the great Chlppewyan tribe, believes
himself to be ander the mysterious guardianship of some
spirit, nsoally represented under the form of an animal.
This is called his " totem,'* and is held sacred by him ;
thus, a warrior whose totem is a tortoise, or a wolf, or
even a snalce, will cautiously abstain fiom injuring or
IdlUof one of ibose aolmiUf

or the. doe for her apparel, the meat of.tha
and the bison for her food ; he will open his
ears to the counsel of the Black-Father, and
will throw a thick blanket over thoughts of strife
and blood. But if the Washashee" (the Osage)
" bears a forked tongue," (here the youth sank
his voice to a wbispei\>f deep meaning,) " if he
loosens the scalp-knife while his hand is on the
poacan,* if the trail of the Dahcotah is found
near our village, Wingenund must be awake ;
he is not a child ; the young men will hear his
voice, and the old men shall say ** He is the
son of his father." It is enough ; let my sister
eat the meat that War-Eagle has sent her ; for
three suns Wingenund tastes not food." i

So saying, the lad threw his robe over bis
shoulder and left the tent. Prairie-bird gas&ed
long and thoughtfully on the spot where her
brother's retreating figure had disappeared ; she
felt grieved that aU the lessons and truths of
Christianity which she had endeavoured U>
instil into his mind, were unable to change the
current of his Indian blood; she had hoped to
see him become a civilized man and a convert,
and through his amiable character, and the
weight of his name, to* win over many others
of the Lenape tribe ; in addition to this disap-
pointment, she was alarmed at the purport of
his parting words; he had hinted at some
treachery on the part of their Osage aOies, and
that a trail of the Dahcotahs had been seen
near the encampment. These subjects of anx-
iety, added to the excitement which her feel-
ings had lately undergone, so completely en*
grossed the maiden*s attention,' that, although
the corn-cakes were of the sweetest kind, and
the venison of the most delicate flavour, the
basket of provisions remained untouched on the
table when Paul Miiller entered the tent. ■

His brow was grave and thoughtful, but bis
countenance relaxed into its usual benevolent
expression, as his affectionate pupil sprang for-
ward to greet and welcome him.

" Dear father, I am so glad you are come I"
she exclaitned ; '* I have been waiting for yo«
most impatiently, and I have been in need of
your aid."

** I heard, my child, as I walked through the
village, that you had been tending the wounds
of a boy much hurt by a horse ; was the hurt
beyond your skilll"

" Not exactly," she replied, hesitating. ** It
was needful that blood should flow from his
arm, and, as you were not there, I was forced
to ask the assistance of Netis — that is, of Regi-
nald."

*'Well," said the missionary, smiling, ''I
hope he proved a skilful leech 1"

'' He would not allow me to look on," she
replied ; '' but, though it was his first trial, he
drew the blood and staunched it as skilfully as
you could have done it yourself, and then ht
walked with me to the tent."

" And you conversed much by the way," en
quired the missionary.

*' Oh yes ; and he made me tell him a great
deal about you, and I was ashamed of talking
so much ; but then he told me that it gave him
pleasure to hear me talk. How can it please
him to hear me talk, dear father 1 I know noth
ing, and he has seen and read so much."

THB PRAIRIE. BIRD.

T7

Paul Mnller averted bis face for a tnoment to
onceai from her the smile which he conid
scarcely repress, as he replied,

"My child, he has perhaps seen and read
much, hut the life and habits of the Indians are
sew to him, and of these you can tell him many
things that he does not know."

" Tell me, dear father," she said, after a short
sQence, " are there others like him in my coun-
try! I mean, not exactly like him, but more
like him than the traders whom 1 have seen;
they are so rough, and they drink fire-water,
and they never think of God or his mercies ;
hot be is so noble, his countenance made me
afraid at first, but now, when he speaks to me,
his voice ia as gentle as the fawn caUjng to its
dam !"

Paul Miiller saw very well how it fared with
the heart of Prairie-bird ; he remembered that
Reginald was the son of a wealthy proprietor,
wtro would probably have insuperable objections
to his Bon*8 marrying a foundling of the wilder-
ness, and he hesitated whether he should not
give her some warning caution on a subject
which he foresaw would so soon affect her
peace of mind ; on the other hand, he was con-
vinced that Reginald' was a man of generous
and decided character, and, while he resolved
carefully to observe the intercourse between
them, he would not mar the unsuspecting purity
«* her nature, nor throw any obstacle in the
way of an attachment which he believed might
^ad to the happiness of both parties. In com-
VLg to this conclusion, it must not be forgotten
•bat W2 was a Moravian missionary, long resi-
dent in the Far-west, and, therefore, not hkely
to trouble his head with the nice distinctions of
European aristocracy. In the country which
was now his home, he might be justified in
deeming a match equal, if the man were honest
and brave and the bride young and virtuous,
without reference to their birth, connexions, or
worldly possessions. Under the impression of
considerations like these, the missionary replied
to the maiden^s enquiry :

*'My child, I will not say that among the
cities and settlements of the white men, there
are many who would gain by comparison with
Reginald Brandon, for not only has he the ac-
cidental advantages of fine features, and a form
siogularly graceful and athletic, but he seems
to me to possess the far higher and rarer quali-
ties of a modest, generous mind, and an honest
heart : nevertheless, my child, I will pray you
even in respect to him, not to forget what I
have told you regarding the general infirmity
and waywardness of our nature, keep a watch
on your eyes and on your heart, and Providence
will rule all for the best : — ^we will speak no
more on this subject now; let us take some
food from the basket on your table." Prairie-
blrd spread the simple meal in thoughtful silence,
and when the missionary had asked a blessing
on it, they sat down together. After a pause
of some minutes she communicated to him her
anxiety on account of the hints dropped by Win-
genund respecting the suspected treachery of
some of their Osage allies, and the circumstance
of a hostile trail having been discovered near
the encampment. " It is too true," replied the
missionary gravely; 'Uhere are signs of ap-
troachiDg atrife; aod even that boy, whom I

have 80 long endeavoored to instruct and lead
aright, his blood is beginning to boil. I fear it
is almost as hard for an Indian to change his
nature as an Ethiopian his skin. He has told
yon the truth, and we must be prepared for ap-
proaching trouble."

After musing for a few moments, Paul Md
ler, fixing his eye on Prairie- bird, continued:
** Do you know any cause of quarrel between
the Osage and Lenape chiefs!"

"None," replied the maiden in unaffected
surprise. " How should I knowl I go not near
their council-fire.'* *

"True," said the missionary; "but your
eyes are not often shut in broad day. Have
you spoken to Mahega of late 1 have you ob-
served him 1"

" He has spoken to me more than once, and
often meets me on my return from any far
lodge in the village. I do not like him ; he is
fierce and bad, and he beats his young squaw,
Wetopa."

" You are right, my child ; avoid him ; there
is evil in that man ; but if you meet him, do not
show any dislike or suspicion of him; you
would only kindle strife ; yon are among faith-
ful and watchful friends,' and if they were all to
slumber and sleep, you have a Friend above,
whose eye is never closed, and whose faithful-
ness is everlasting. Farewell, my child. I
must converse awhile with Tamenund. Do
you solace an hour with your guitar ; it will put
your unquiet thoughts to rest."

Prairie-bird was so accustomed to pay implicit
obedience to the sligbt^t wishes and siifgcB'
tions of her beloved preceptor, that as he left
the tent she mechanically took up the guitar,
and passed her fingers through the strings. By
degrees the soul of music within her was stirre<^n
and ere long vented itself in the following hymn

The words were in the Delaware tongUL\ inl
composed by herself, — ^the melodies (for more
than one were introduced into the irregular
chaunt) were such as she had caught or min-
gled from Indian minstrelsy, and the whole
owed its only attraction to the sweet and varied
tones of her voice. The first measure was a
low recitative which might be thus rendered in
English : —

" The 'San sinks behind the western hills ,
Deep red are the curtains of his couch.
One by one the stars appear ;
Many they are and lustrous.
The pale moon Is among them !
They walk in their appdnted path,
Singing on their way, * God made us all !

MachtUitda »tUek KMewwueaean,
or

Hallowed be thy name.**

Here the measure changed, and sweeping th€
strings with a bolder hand, she continued her
untutored hymn, blending her Christian creed
with the figures and expressions of the people
among whom she dwelt. >

**Thb Great Spirit of the Lenape is God.
He has sent his word to gladden the heart of man,
But clouds still darken the minds of the ancteat people
The Great Spirit knows that they ajre blind and dea^
Yet His ear is open to hear,
His hand is ready to guide.

{ut fttprd)
Hallowed be thy name !"

Agam the measure changed, as in the richest
tones of her melodious voice she pnrstted her
theme.

THE PSAIRlfi^BIBO.

*8ion and (he «TerIastfBg mooBtaliMi ai« tby fiMiaool I

Lfghtninxs are 'about thy throng
Thunder to Uiy voice, ra

And the evil spirit trembles be(bre thee !
The eagle cannot soar to thv habitation ;
His eve cannot loolc on tby brightness;
Yet dost thou give life to the insect,
And hnt^xh to the merry wren !
Tho: iesdest tbe wild hone .to the pasture*
And the thirsty fawn to ..m stream.
Hallowed be thy name.'*

Here the measure resumed its low aod plain-
t ve melody as she thus concluded her song.

Who sings the pratoe of God 1

It is * Prairie-bird,* the poor child of the wilderness.

But God spurns not her prayer ;

She to a stray-leaf, that knows not tbe tree

Whence the radis wind hath blown tt^

But God planted the parent fitem.

And not a branch of leaf thereof is hid from hto s^ht.

The young whip-poor-will flies to Its mother's neirt,

Tbe calf bleats to the bison-cow:

No mother's voice says to OliUpa, 'Come here!*

The wide prairie is her home !

God to a Father to Olitlpa !

Hallowed be thy name !**

In singing the last few words, the tones of
ker Toice were "most masical, most melan-
choly," and though no human eye marked the
teardrop that stole down her cheek, it would
appear that her song had excited sympathy in
tome human bosom, for a deep sigh fell upon
her ear; startled at tlfe sound, Prairie*hird
looked round her tent, but no one eould be seen ;
she listened, but it was not repeated, and the
naiden remained unconscious that at the very
ftrst touch of her guitar Reginald had crept out
of the adjoining lodge, and, enveloped in a buf-
falo robe on the grass at the back of her tent,
had heard from beginning to end her plaintive
hymn, and had paid the unconscious tribute of
a heavy sigh to the touching pathos of its closing
■train.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Sy a ptoms of a Rupture between the Delawares and Osa-
ges. — Mah^ga oomes forward in the Character of a Lover.
'His Courtship receives an unexpected Interruptioa.

Paul Muller, having left the lodge of Prairie-
bird, fulfilled his intention of entering that of
Tamenund: he found the venerable chieilain
seated upon a buffalo robe; his back leaned
, against a bale of cloth, a highly ornamented
pipe-stem at his lips, while from its other extrem-
ity, a thin column of smoke rising in wavy folds,
found its way out of the accidental rents and
crevices in the skins which covered the lodge.
War-Eagle was listening in an attitude of re-
spectful attention to the wopjs which fell from
his father; but the subject of conversation was
evidently of some importance, as the women and
the youths were whispering together at a dis-
tance froni the two principal persons. The en-
trance of the missionary was not unnoticed, for
Tamenund made liim a signal to draw near and
sit down ; several times the pipe was passed
round in silence, when the old chief, addres^ng
his guest in the Delaware tongue, said, '* The
BLaSk Father knows that there are dark clouds
in the sky I"

" He does," replied the missionary. A glance
of intelligence passed between War-Eagle and
Tamenund, as the latter proceeded.

" What says the Black-Father 1 Is the storm
to break, or will the sun shine again 1" '

•« The Qreat Spirit only knowa^" replied the

missionary ; " if the sun shines, we wO he thanlc
ful, if the storm falls, we will wrap round as the
cloak of patience."

A fierce gleam shot from the young chiefs
eye, but he spoke not a word until Tamcnam}
addressed him thus : " What says War-£lagle 1
let him speak."

<' The snows of many winters arc on my fa-
ther's forehead ; the Black-Father has learned
wisdom from the Great Spirit; it is more fittin?
for War-Eagle to listen than to speak," replied
the young man, curbing the angry thoughts tha:
glowed i^ his breast.

"Nay, my sod," said the missionary, "let
War-Eagle speak, and his saying be afterward*
weighed by the aged heads."

War-Eagle then proceeded to explain how
Wingenund, in returning from the turkey-pen,
had caught a glimpse of a distant figure, whom
he knew at a glance to belong to another tribe.
Hastily concealing himself among the bushes,
he waited till the strai^ Indian passed, and then
resolving to watch hua, crept stealthily on hia
trail. ' .

Having made his way to a hollow in tbe
thickest part oOthe forest, he sat down on (he
stump of an alder-tree, where he made and twien
repeated a low signal whistle, which was soon
answered by another Indian, who approached lA
an opposite direction, and in whom, to his great
surprise, Wingenund recognised Mah^ga. He
was not near enough to overhear their conver-.
sation, neither was he aware whether they spoke
in the Delaware tongue, but after conversing in
a low tone for some minutes, they separated, and
Wingenund again put himself on the trail of the
stranger ; the latter frequently estopped in hi»
course, looked round and listened, but tbevouth
was too practised and sagacious to be baffled by
these precautions, and finally succeeded in track-
ing the object of his pursuit to an encampment
containing ten or a dozen armed Indians, whom
he knew at once to form a war-party, but could
not decide to what tribe they belonged ; he suc-
ceeded, however, in securing a mocassin which
one of them had dropped, and returned unper-
ceived to the Delaware village.

Such was the outline of the occurrences now
rapidlv sketched by War-EUigle; and in concla^
ding bis narrative, he held up the mocassin
above-mentioned, and presented it to the aged
chieC The latter examined it for a moment ia
silence, and restoring it to the warrior, pro-
nounced, in a low guttaral tone, the word *'DalH
cotah."

" Yes," said the War-Eagle, in a deep whis-
per, indicative oi the indignant passion thA
boiled within; "Yes, the Dahcotah is in thf'
woods; he prowls like a prairie-wolf. The
Great Spirit has made him a dog;, and if he sets
his foot on the hunting-nound ofthe Lenape, let
not his wife complain if she looks along his path
in vain,,and strikes her breast, saying, * The wife
ofthe Dahcotah is a widow !' but the Evil Spirit
has crept into the heart of the Washashee, a
snake is in the council-chamber of the Lenap^,
and lies are on the tongue of Mah^ga! Is it
enough, or must War-Eagle speak more 1"

" The words of my son are nard," replied ta-
menund, shaking his head sorrowfully; "the
Dahcotah are doss, they are on a deer-hunt;
their heart is not Dig enough to make them dig
up the hatchet to fight with the Lenap6. Tame-
nund cannot believe that the tongue of Mah^
isioforkoc^orhis heut so black, for two mum

THE PRAIftlE-BIKD.

99

teve not passed since he sat and smoked in this
lodge, aad spoke of Olitipa, the daughter of the
Fnirie He said that her roice was music to
kiiD, that her form vtbb in his dreams, and he
asked Tamennnd to give her to him as a wife."

At these words the suppressed rage of the
Toothful warrior had well nigh burst the iron
nndsof fiidian self-control ; he ground his teeth
audibly together^ his dilated form trembled
(faroogh every ^enre and muscle, but observing
the keen eye of the missionary fixed upon his
oonntenance, he sabdned in a moment the rising
tempest, and asked in a voice, the forced calm-
ness of which was fearfuL ''What said my
' lather r

Tamennnd replied that the maiden was great
niedicine in the tribe, .that she was a gift of the
Grreat Spirit, and that her dwelling coald never
be in the lodge of an Osage chief. " He went
away without speaking," added the old man se-
riously ; " but his eye spoke bad words enough 1"

" My father said well," exclaimed the impetu-
ous young man ; *' let Mah^ga seek a wife
among his dog-brothers 4he Dancotahs I War-
Earie will smoke no more in his lodge."

After a* brief pause, Tamenund continued,

" My son has told half his thoughts, let him
speak on."

"Nay," returned the young warrior, " let ray
fiither consult the medicine, and the counsellors
who have seen many winters: War-Eagle will
whis]^ to his braves, and when the ancient
BKa m council have spoken, he will be ready."

With this ambi^ous answer, he folded his
taffalo robe over his shoulder and left the lodge.

The missioDaiy saw that mischief was brew-
ing, yet knew not how to prevent it. He had
Suned extraordinary influence among the Dela-
farcs by never interfering in their councils,
anless when he felt assured that the result would
justify the advice which he offered, but on the
present occasion it was evident that his Isdian
vieiids had sufficient grounds for suspecting
their Osage allies of treachery; he resolved,
therefore, to wait and observe, before making
Jose attempts at reconciliation which becanfte
his character and his mission. Influenced by
this determination, he spoke a few words to the
aged chief on indlflerent matters, and shortly
aflerwards retired to his own lodge.

During the preceding conversation Baptiste
had been seated at a little distance, his whole at-
tention apparently engaged in mending a rent in
his mocassins, but scarcely a word had escaped
his watchftil ear, and wrfle he heard with secret
delight that there was every chance of a fight
with the Sioux, towards whom he cherished, as
^ have before observed, an unextinguished ha-
tred, he could not view, without much uneasi-
• ness, the daneerous position in which Reginald's
party might be placSed by a rupture between the
Delawares and Osages, in a wild region where
either party might soon obtain the ready aid of
the Pawnees, or some other warlike and maraud-
ing tribe ; he resolved, however, for the present
to content himself with putting his young leader
<m his guard, reserving a fuller explanation until
he should have been able to ascertain the inten-
tioos of his Delaware friends : in this last en-
deavour he did not anticipate much difficulty, for
the experienced woodsman had proved his stead-
mess to them in znany a fray, and his courage
and skill were no less proverbial among them
than was his mortal enmity to the Dahcotahs.

Nothing oceoned daring the ensuing night to

disturb the quiet of the encamp jient, if that msf,
be denominated quiet which was constantly in-
terrnpted by the chattering of wakeful squaws,
the barking of dogs, the occasional ehannt of a
warrior, and the distant howling of hungry
wolves ; our hero's dreams were, like his waking
thoQghts, full only of Prairie-bird ; and when he
rose at daybreak he expressed no, wish to roam
or hunt, but lingered within view of that small
circular lodge, which contained the treasure
that he valued most on earth* To the cautious
warning of Baptiste he answered, smiling, " You
confess yourself that you only suspect ; von
know our friends and their language, thei*
wiles, and their stratagems. I trust the safety of
my party to your sagacity; if your suspiciont
are turned to certainty, tell me, and I am ready
to act."

As the young man left the lodge without evey
taking his cutlass or his rifle, Baptiste looki«)f
after him, shrugged his shoulders, adding in a»
under tone, just loud enough to be heard by
Monsieur Perrot. who sat at nis side,

"* Suspicion/ •certainty,* ' sagacity*—- wh]
surely he is mad ! he talks as if plots and plam
were measured out by rule among the Red-skins^
as they may be 'mong lords and princes in Eu
rope 1 this comes of his towering, as they call it,
amongst the Dutch and other outlandish tribes
Surely he's lived enough in the territory to Imow
( ^that with these Ingians, and special near a Sioux
trail, the first suspicion a man is like to get is
an arrow in his fibs or a tomahawk in his brain
Capote-bleu, Maltre Perrot, what do you think
of your master, is he mad V*

*^ Very much mad," said the good-humoured
valet, grinning, while he continued assiduously
to pound some coflTee-beans which he was pre*
paring for breakfast ; '* very much mad, Men*
sieur Baptiste ; he very mad to leave Paris to
go to his fox-huntin* oncle in England ; he more
mad to leave dat for the back- woods by de Mus-
kingum ; but he dam mad to leave Mooshanne
to come here where dere is nothing but naked
savages and naked prairies."

*• Ah ! Mattre Perrot,** replied the guide, *'m>
fa{her was a Canada Frenchman, and although
he was, mayhap, never further east than Mon-
treal, he was as fond of talking of Paris as a
bear is of climbing a bee-tree I***

" He very right. Monsieur Ba*tiste ; de world
without Paris is no more dan a woman wldout
a tongue ; but as you know our language, I will
speak it to you, for pronouficing ^ghsh is no
better dan breaking stones wid your teeth f'
And the merry valet forthwith inflicted upon
his grayer companion a Parisian tirade, that
very soon went beyond the latter*s stock of Cana>
dian French.

The morning dawned with unusual splendour,
the sun gradually rose over the wooded hills that
bounded the eastern horizon, and the light breeze
shook the dewdrops from the flowers, as Prairie-
bird, fresh .and lovely as the scene around her.
tripped lightly over the grass to the sequestered
spot which we have before mentioned as being
her favourite resort; there, seated at the root or

I

* An sihuuni to tli« fimdnen of bean for koiia^ oocnn
moro than once in this tale, and will be met with m some
shape or other in most worls which treat of that animal's
habits and propensities : that snch is the case in Europe as
well as in North America, may be rathered tnm tlw fao*
that in the Rusaiaii tongue, a Bear is called, ** Med-vede,*
which word is thus farmed : med^ honey, «e<2e, who knows i
*\Ba who taowi bcnay.*

THE PRAIRI£*BIRD

^e aged tree where Reginald had first seen her,
she opened the volume which was her constant
lompanion, and poured forth the grateful feel-
ings of her heart, in the words of the inspired
Prophet-King; at her feet flowed the brawling
stream which led the vallry below the encamp-
ment; the merry birds sang their matins among
the leafy branches above her head, and around
her sprang sweet-scented flowers and blossoms
of a thousand varied hues. There are some
spots, and some brief seasons on earth, so redo-
lent of freshness, beauty, and repose, as almost
to revive the Paradise lost by our first parents,
but soon, too soon, ihe, eflects of primeval sin
and its punishment are felt, and the atmosphere
of heavenly peace is tainted by the miasma of
human passion 1

Prairie-bird had enjoyed for some time her
study and her meditations undisturbed, when
her attention was caught by the sound of ap-
jH'oaching footsteps ; the conscious blood rushed
to her cheek as she expected to see the same
visitor who had so suddenly presented himself
OB the preceding day, when to her surprise and
annoyance, the gigantic figure of Mah^ga stood
before her on the opposite side of thie streamlet
by which she was seated ; although simple, un-
suspecting, and feartess by nature, there was
something in the countenance and bearing of this
formidable chief that had always inspired her
with mingled dislike and awe ; remembering on
the present occasion the hint lately given to her by
the Missionary, she returned the haughty greet-
ing of the Indian by a gentle inclination of her
head, and then summoned composure enough
to continue her reading, as if desirous to avoid
conversation; such, however, was not Mahega's
intentioD, who softening, as far as he.. was able,
the rough tones of his voice, addressed to her,
in the Delaware tongue, a string of the finest
Indian compliments on her beauty and attrac-
tions. To these the maiden coldly replied, by
telling him that she thanked him for his good
words, but that as she was studying the com-
mands of the Great Spirit, she wished not to be
dismrbed.

Mahega, nothing checked by this reply, con-
tinued to ply her with protestations and prom-
ises, and concluded by telling her that she must
be his wife ; that he was a warrior, and would
ill hgr wigwam with spoils and trophies. As
he proceeded, his countenance became more
excited, and the tones of his voice had already
more of threat than of entreaty. Prairie-bird
replied with forced calmness, that she knew he
was a great warrior, but that she could not be
his wife ; their paths were different ; his led to
war, and spoils, and power in ruling his tribe ;
hers to tending the sick and fulfilling the com-
mands of the Great Spirit given in the '* Medicine
Book." Irritated by the firm though gentle tone
of her reply, the violent passion of the chief
broke out in a torrent of harsh and menacing
words ; he called her a foundling and a slave ;
adding, that in spite of the Delaware squaws
and their white allies, she should sleep in his
^dge, although the honour was greater than she
deserved.

Fired with indignation at this brutal menace,
the spirited girl rose from her seat, and looking
him full in the face, replied, " Prairie-bird is a
foundling; if Mah6ga knows his parents, he dis-
graces their name; she would rather be the
slave of Tamenund than the wif- of Mahega."

A demoniac grin stole over tne f«;atures of the

savage, as he replied : *^ The words of OiitifKi
are bitter. Mahega laughs at ^er anger; she is
alone and unprotected; will she walk to hi;
lodge, or must the warrior carry her 1"

So saying, he advanced to »he very edge of the
narrow stream ! The maiden, although alarm*
ed, retained sufficient presence of mind to know
that to save herself by flight was impossible,
but the courage of insulted virtue supported her,
and she answered him in a ton^ that breathed
more of indignation than of fear.

" Olitipa is not alone — is not^ unprotected !
The Great Spirit is her protector, before whom
the stature or Mahega is as a blade of grass,
and his strength like that of an infant. See,"
she continued,, drawing from her girdle a small
sharp-pointed dagger, "Olitipa is not unpro-
tected ; if Mahega moves a foot to cross that
stream this knife shall reach her heart ; and th«
great Mahega will so to the huntiog fields of the
dead, a coward, and a woman-slayer."

As she spoke these words she held the dSLgger
pointed to her Bosom now heaving with high
euKJtion; her form seemed to dilate, and her
dark eye kindled with a prouder lustre. The
glow on her cheek, and the lofty dignity of her
attitude, only heightened her beauty in the eyes
of the savage, and confirmed him in carrying
out his fell purpose, to ensure the success of
which he saw that stratagem, not force, must be
^employed ; assuming, therefore, a sarcastic tone
of voice, he replied,

" OliUpa trusts to the edge of her knife ; Ma-
hega laughs at her." Then he continued in a
louder key, as if addressing an Indian behind
her, " Let W4nemi seize her arm and hold it."

As the surprised maiden turned her bead in
the direction wjiere she expected to see the In-
dian to whom Mahega was speaking, that crafly
chief cleared the brook at a bound, and seizing
her waist, while a smile of triumph lit up his
features, said, " The pretty one is • Mah^ga's ,
prisoner; there is no one here but himself; a
cunning tale tickled the ears of Olitipar" *

The hapless girl saw how she had been out-
witted by the savage. She struggled in vain to
free herself from his grasp, and a faint scream
of despair broke from her lips.

The spring of a famished tiger on a heifer is
not more fiercely impetuous than was the bound
with which Reginald Brandon rushed from the
adjacent thicket upon Mahega, — reckless of his
opponent's huge bulk and strength, forgetful
that he was himself unarmed. The cry of
Prairie-bird had strung with tenfold power ev-
ery sinew in his athletic frame; seizing with
both hands the throat of Mahega, he grasped iUft *
with such deadly force that the Indian was com^F"
pelled to release his hold of the maiden, — but he
still retained her knife, and in the struggle plun-
ged it into the ai'm and shoulder of Reginald,
who relaxed not, however, his iron grasp, Duj
still bore his opponent backward, until the foot
of the latter tripped over a projecting rodt, and
he fell with tremendous force upon his head^
the blood gushing in torrents from his nose ana
mouth. Reginald, who had been dragged down
in his fall, seized the dagger, and, as he raised
it above his head, 'felt a light touch upon his
arm, and tuming«round saw Prairie-bird kneel-
ing at his side, her face pale as monumenta
marble, and the sacred volume still clasped in
her hand.

" Kill him not, Reginald," she said, in a low,
impressive voice; "vengeance. is minei saitk
theliOrdr

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

at

Ifnatnless, and (lashed widi the late severe
Rttfg^e, the ^oang man replied, " I will spare
ihe villain, dear Prairie-bird, at your bidding; he
is stunned and senseless noW, bat he will soon
lecover, and his fnry and thirst for revenge will
enow no boands ; he shall know, however^ that
I have spared him." So saving he cat off the
dyed and ornamented scalp lock from the top of
Mah^a*s head, and laying it beside the prostrate
chieflaiD, arose, and retired with Prairie-bird
from the spot.

They walked together some distance in silence,
for her heart was overcharged with contending
emotions, and as they wenj she nnconscionsly
clang to his arm for support; at length she stop-
ped, and looking ap in his face, her eyes glisten*
ng with tears, she said,

" How am 1 ever to thank you 1 my first debt
sf gratUade is dae to Heaven ; bat you have
been its brave^ its blessed instrument of my de-
Urerance from worse than death I'* and a shudder
passed over her frame as the rude grasp of Ma-
li^ recurred to her remembrance. '

'* Dear Prairie-bird," he replied; "as a man I
would have done as much ror the poorest and
most indifferent of yoar sex— how then am I re-
paid a thousand, thousand fold by having been
allowed to serve a being so precious!" The
deep mellow tone in which he spoke these words,
tndf the look l^ which they were accompanied,
brought the truant colour again to the cheek oi
kis companion, and as she cast her full dark eyes
downwaird, they rested on the arm that support-
ed her, and she saw that his sleeve was stained
and dropping with blood I

"Oh! you are wounded, badly hurt, I fear.
Tell me, tell me, Reginald," she continued, with
an intensity of anxiety that her expressive coun-
Wian^e betrayed, " are you badly hurt!"
- "Indeed, dear Prairie-bird, I cannot tell you;

Lfelt the Indian strike me twice with the dagger
iibre he fell ; I do not think the wounds are se-
rioos, for you see I can walk and assist your
step too."

While he thus spoke he was, however, pow-
ing faint from loss of blood, and the wound m his
shoulder, having become cold and stiff, gave him
exquisite pain. Prairie-bird was not deceived
by the cheerfulness of his manner; she saw the
paleness that was gradually stealing over his
coQBtenance, and with ready presence of mind,
insisted on his sitting down on the trunk of a
fallen tree beside their path. Inie suffering con-
dition of Reginald redoubled instead of paraly-
zing her energies ; she filled his cap with fresh
water from the brook, urged him to taste a few

frops, and sprinkled more ever his face and
imples; then, ripping up the sleeve of bis hunt-
ing shirt, she foimd the blood still welling from
two severe wounds between the elbow and
shoulder in the left arm; these she bathed and
earefullv closed, applying to them a healing
salve which she drew from the small bag that
she wore at her girdle, after which she bandaged
the arm firmly with her kerchief, then, kneeling
beside him, strove to read in his face the suc-
cess of her simple surgery.

In the course of a few minutes the dizzy sen-
sation of faintness, that had been produced by
losy of blood, passed away, and toe delighted
Prairie-bird, seeing on his countenance the
beaming smile of returning consciousness and
strength, murmured to herself, ''Oh! Gkxl, I
thank thee !" then hiding her face in her hands,
\ wept with mingled emotion and gratitude. Re-

ginald heard the words, he marked (he tearr, and
no longer able to suppress the feelings with
which his heart overflowed, he drew her gently
toW^rds him with his yet unwounded arm, and
whispered in her ear the outpourings of a first,
fond, passionate love !

No reply came from her lips, her tears (tears of
intense emotion) flowed yet faster; but a sensi-
ble pressure on the part of the UiHe hand which
he clasped within his own, gave him the blest
assurance that his love was returned ; and again
and again did he repeat those sacred and impas-
sioned vows by which the hopes, the fears, the
fortunes, the anections, the very existence or two
immortal beings, are inseparably blended togeth-
er. Her unresisting hand remained clasped in
his, and her head leaned upon his shoulder, that
she might conceal the blushes that suffused her
countenance ; still he would not be satisfied with-
out a verbal answer to his thrice urged prayer
that he might call her his own; and when at
length she raised her beaming eves to his, and
audibly whispered " For ever " be sealed upon
those sweet lips the contract ot unchanged anec-
tion.

Bright, transitory moments of bliss! lightninc
flashes that illumine the dark and stormy path
of life, though momentary in your duration how
mighty in your power, how lasting in your ef-
fects ! Sometimes imparting a rapturous glow
and kindling an unceasing heat that death itself
cannot extinguish, and sometimes under a star
of evil destiny searing and withering the heart
rendered desolate by your scorching name I

It is not necessary to inform the gentle reader
how long the We-^tite on the fallen tree contin-
ued ; suffice it to say that Prairie-bird forgot her
hight, and Reginald his wounds ; and when they
returned to the village, each sought to enjoy in
solitude those delicious reveries which deserve
certainly the second place in love's catalogue of
happiness.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Eth«Itton prepares to leave Monehenne.— 'Mah^ga appeaia
aa an Ontor. in which Character he aucoeeda better than
in that of a Lover.— A Storm snoceeded by a Calm.

While the events described in the last chap-
ters were in progress, the hours sped smoothly
onward at Mooshanne. Lucy and Ethelston
thought themselves justlv entitled to a liberal
compensation for the trials of their long separa-
tion, and as the spring advanced, morning and
evening generally found them strolling together,
in the enjoyment of its opening beauties. Some-
times Aunt Mary encountered them during the
busy round of her visits to the poultry, the {}ie.
gery, or to the cottage of some neighbour, whith-
er sorrow or sickness called her. The mate fre-
quently came over from Marietta to see his cap
tain, and to inquire whether there was no early
prospect of another voyage, for he already began
to find that Time travelled slowly ashore ; anc^
although he consoled himself, now and ther
with a pipe and social glass in David Muii^S'
back parlour, he loiiged to be afloat again, ana
told the worthy merchant, that he would rather
have made the fresh-water trip in the canoe,
than be laid up in dock, while he felt his old hull
still stout and seaworthy. His son Henry con-
tinued to advance in the good graces of Jessie
Muir, but unforttmately for the youth his iathe.

82

THE PRAIRxE-BIBBL

iiad discovered his attachment, and lost no op-
portunity of bantering him in the presence of
the young lady, accompanying his jokes ^^th
sundry grins, and severe pokes in the ribs, which
caused sometimes a disagreeable alternation of
vexation and confusion ; nevertheless David
Muir remained habitually blind to the stat^ of
his daughter's affections,' and Dame Christie
was a great deal too much occupied with the
cares of domestic government (includlBg the oc-
casional lectures and reproofs administered to
David), to admit of her troubling her head with,
what she would have termed, their childish fan-
cies.

Such was the general state of affairs on the
banks of the Muskingum, when Colonel Bran>
don received letters ironv St. Louis, informing
him that, since the departure of his son, various
disputes had arisen between the agents of the
different companies, and that unless a speedy
and amicable arrangement could be effected, a
heavy loss must necessarily fall upon the fur
proprietors and others inferested in the specula-
tion. By the same post, a letter, bearing a for-
eign postmark, was>placed in the hands of £th-
elston. during the perusal of which, an expression
of saoness spread itself over his countenance,
and he fell aostractedly into a reverie, the sub-
ject of which was evidently of a painful nature.
Such indications were not likely to escape the
anxious and observant eye of love, and Lucy,
laying her hand lightly on his arm, said, in a
tone half joking, half serious, *^ Am I not entitled
to know all your secrets now, Edward 1"

"I think not," he replied in the same tone,
** and I am rather disposed to refuse gratifying
your curiosity, until you consent to acquiring
such a title as shall be indisputable." Lucy
coloured, but as she still held out her hand and
threatened him with her displeasure if he contin-
ued disobedient, he g^ve her the letter, saying,
<< J suppose I must submit ; the contents are sad,
but there is no reason why I should withhold
them from yourself, or from your father." With
these words he left the room ; after a short pause,
Lucy, at the Colonel's request, read him the let-
ter, which proved to be from young Lieutenant
L'Estrange, and which, being translated, ran as
follows: —

" Mr BONOURSD FRIBN0,

" I need not tell you of tiie grief that I expe-
rienced on revisiting my changed and desolate
home. My father has told me all that passed
during your stay in the island. He looks upon
those days not in anger, but in sorrow; he is
sensible that for a time he did you injustice, and
fears that, in the first bitterness of his grief, he
may have omitted to make you full reparation.
These feelings he entreats me to convey to you,
and desires me to add that, from the first day of
your arrival to that oi your final departure, your
conduct was like jrourself—noble, upright, and
generous. The nusfortune that we still bewail,
we bow to, as being the infliction of a Providence
whose ways are inscrutable. Accept the renewed
assurance of the highest regaerd and esteem of
lour friend,

\ i "EUOEKK L'ESTRAMQE."

As Lucy read this letter, her eyes filled with
tears, though, perhaps, she could scarcely have
explained whether she wept over the afflictions
that had befallen the L'Estrange family, or the
generous testimony whicn it bore to her lover's
conduct * The CkiioAel| too, was much affected,

and gladly/acquifisced in his daughter's prap^
sal, that they should, for the future, abstaia irom
renewing a subject which must cause auoh
painful recollections to Ethelston. ^

Ere many hours had elapsed, the latter wa*
summoned to attend the Colonel, who informed
him that the intelligence lately received from St^
Louis was of a nature so important to his affairs^
that it required immediate attention. *^ There
is no one," he continued, "to whom I can well
entrust this investigation except yourself, for
none has deserved or received so much of my
confidence." There was an. unusual embarrass-
ment and hesitation^ observable in Ethelstoa'si
countenance on hearing these words, which did
not escape his guardian's quick eye, and the lat-
ter added, "I see, my dear fellow,, that you are
not disposed to leave Mooshanne again so soon ;
you are thinking about certain promises and a.
certain young lady — ^is it not so, Edward t"

"It is so, ihdeed, my best and kindest ot>
friends," said Elhelston. "Can you think or
wish that it should be otherwise 1"

" Nay," said Colonel Brandon, smiling, " I
will not deny that you are entitled to entertain
such thoughts, but believe me, when I assure
you seriously that this expedition is essential to
your own interests and to mine. A great por«
tion of the property left to you under my care by
your father is invested in these fur companies ;
and ere you enter on the responsibilities of a
married life, it is necessary that you put youf
affairs in such a posture, as to ensure soooe fu-
ture provision for the lady of whom you are
thinking. These arrangements will not detain
you at St. Louis for more than six weeks or two
months; by that time Reginald will have re-
turned from his Indian excursion ; you will come
home together, and I will then listen patiently to
whatever you may think fit to say regarding the
young lady in question. Shall it be so, Ed*
ward!"

" How can I be grateful enough !" replied Etb-
elston, taking the Colonel's hand. "Qive me
only leave to explain to Lucy the cause and
probable duration of my absence, then I am
ready to receive your instructions and to set
about it immediately."

We will not inquire too minutely how Lucy
received this explanation from her lover's lip,
nor what means he took to reconcile her to th^
proposed arrangement ; it is sufficient to state,
that she finally acquiesced with her habitual gen«
tleness, and that, in a few days after the al^ve
conversation, Ethelston had completed his piep»
arations for his journey to St. Louis. ^ _

We will again take leave of him and of Moo^fel
shanne for a season, and return to Mah6ga, whofl^
we left bleeding and senseless, at no great dis^
tance from the Osage and Delaware encamp^
ment. Indeed, we should, ere this, have accused
ourselves of inhumanity towards that chief, for
leaving him so long in such sorry plight, had he
not merited severe punishment for his rough and
brutal behaviour to " Prairie-bird."

When Mah^ga recovered his senses, he war
still so much confused from the stunning efiectr
of the severe blow that he had received on the
head, as well as from loss of Mood, that he could
not recall to mind the events immediately pre-
ceding his swoon; nor did they present them«
selves distinctly to his memory, until his eye
nrsted upon his stained scalp lock, and beside it
the knite that Reginald Brandon had driven
fiimly into t2u» tuit TImii tie remembeiei /

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

83

aisj

ft

tiearijr enough the straggle, his fall, and the
maiden's escape ; and the rage engendered by
this remembrance was rendered yet more vio-
lenty when he reflected on the insult that his scalp
had sustained from aa enemy who had scorned
Ic take his life.

Fierce as were ^he passions that boiled within
the breast of the Osage, his self-command was
such that he was able to control ail outward
demonstration of them ; and rising slowly^, be
first effaced in .the stream all the sanguinary
marks of the late contest, and then took his way
towards the camp, revolving in his mind various
projects for securing the two principal objects
that he was determined to accomplisn — the pos-
session of Prairie-bird and the death of Reginald
Brandon I

Althovigh a wild, uninstructed savage, Ma-
h6ga was gifted with talents of no common or-
oer. Bold and inflexible in carrying out his
piuposes, be had cunning sufficient to make un-
important concessions to the opinions of other
^hiefe and braves in council. Unlike the great
majority of his tribe and race, he was well aware
oi the power and strength resulting from union,
and although all his ambition ultimately cen-
tred in himself, he had the art of persuading
his countrymen that he soup^ht only their inter-
ests and welfare; thus, while many hated and
more feared Mah^ga, he was the most influen-
tial chief in the tribe, on account of his daring
courage, his success in war, and the reckless
liberality with which he distributed among others
tds share of booty or of spoil. When the Dela-
ware band had migratea to the banks of the
Osage river, Mah^ga's^rst impulse had been to
attack and destroy them; but finding that the
tew comers were better supplied with arms and
uamunition, the issue of a conflict seemed doubt-
fal. Moreover, as they were visited by many
•jaders, he calculated that, by keeping on friendly
verms with tfiem, he should acquire for his tribe
and for himself many advantages greater than
thev had before enjoyed.

Acting upon these motives he had not only en-
eouraged peace with the Delawares, but had ef-
fected through his own influence the league that
had for some time united the two bands in one
encampment; nbr had he been mistaken in his
expectations, for since their union with the band
^ Delawares, the Osages had been enabled to
beat oflfthe Pawnees and other r.oving tribes, from
whose inroads upon their hunting ground they
had before been exposed to frequent and severe
disasters ; the objects of which he had con tern pla-

d, had thus been for the most part accomplished.

he tribe was plentifully supplied with arms

d anmnnnition by the traders; his own influ-
ence among them was higher than ever; but
he could not brook a rival to his fame as a war-
rior in War-Eagle, nor bear to be checked and
thwarted in his ambitious schemes, by the mild
authority of Tamenund.

The mind of Mah6ga being thus prepared for
seizing the earliest opportunity of coming to a
rupture with the Delawares, it may well be ima-
gined bow his most violent and rancorous pas-
sions were excited by the scornful rejection of
his suit on the part of Prairie-bird, and the dis-
grace he had incurred in his rencounter with her
white protector. He resolved no longer to delay
the meditated blow ; he had already made a se-
cret league with the warlike and powerful Dah-
cotabs; and the occasion seemed most favoura-
bk fiai wreaking his vengeance on the relatives

of Prairie-bird, and the white men now resident
in the Delaware camp.

Having once formed his determination, he set
about carrying it into eflfect with the sagacity
and profound dissimulation which had already
obtained for him such an ascendancy in tha
Osage council. No sooner had he reached his
lodge, than he dressed hufiself in his Medicine
robe,* adprned his face with corresponding
streaks of paint, and concealing the loss of hi«
scalplock by a Spanish kerchief which he fold-
ed round his head, somewhat afler the ihshion of
a turban, he sallied forth to visit the chiefs and
braves, on whosexco-operation he felt that suc-
cess must mainly depend.

Some of these were already prepared to adopt
his views, by their previous participation in the
league with the Dahcotahs ; others he bent and
moulded to his purpose by arguments, and in-
ducements suited to their character or circum-
stances ; and ere he returned to his lodge, he felt
confident that his proposed plans would be sup-
ported by the most influential warriors in the
tribe, ana that he should easily bear down the
opposition of the more cautious and scrupulous,
who might be disposed to keep faith with their
Delaware allies.

In the meanwhile War-Eagle was not idle,
he visited the principal braves and warriors ci
his tribe, and found them unanimous in their res-
olution to break ofl'all communication withihe
Osages, as soon as the latter should commit ahy
overt act that should justify them in dissolving
the league into which they had entered. He
also resolved to watch closely the movements ot
Mah6ga, of whose malice and influence he was
fully aware ; Vith this view he selected an intel-
ligent Delaware boy, who knew the Osage lan-
guage, and desired him to hover about the tent of
the chief, and to bring a report of all that he
should see or hear.

Towards the close of day, Mah^ga sent run-
ners about his village, alter the usual Indian
fashion, to summon the warriors and braves,
most of whom were already prepared for the
harangue which he was about to address to them ;
as soon as a sufficient number were collected,
the wily chief came forth from his lodge, in the
dress before described, and began by thanking
them for so readily obeying his call.

"Why did Mah6ga call together the war-
riors 1" he continued; " was it to tell them that a
broad bison-trail is near the camp 1 The Med-
icine-men have not yet smoked the hunting pipe
to the Wahcondah. — ^Was it to tell them of tne
scalps taken by their fathers 1 The young men
have not been called to the war-dance, their ears
have not heard the Drum.t — ^Was it to tickle
their ears with words like dried grass 1 Mah6-
ga*s tongue is not spread with honey; he has
called the Washashe to open their ears and eyes,
to tell them that snakes have crept under their

* The BtiflUo robei warn by the Osages, aa well aa hj
some other Missouri tribes, are Tariooslj ornamented and
paintMi with devices. Some oC these refer to war, some ta
marriage, some to medicine or mystery ; these last are gen*
erally worn at councils, on which occasiohs a chief who has
some important subject to propose, frequently adds to the
paint on nis face, some streaks corresponding to the denoes
on his Buffalo robe.

t In the performance of the war-dance among the Indians
of the Missouri, the tread of the dancers is guided by a mo
notonous chaunt, sung by some of the Medicine-men, and
accompanied by the beat of a small drum of the rudest con-
struction, and most barren dismal tone. It is generally
nothing more than a dried skin, stretched upon s woodea ^
fnm9 hoUowed out with a Imife by the sqos va

8i

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

lodges, that the dogs in the village have become
wolves!"

As he paused, the auditors looked each at the
other ; those who were not yet instructed in the
speaker's project l)eiDg at a loss to catch the
meaning of his words. Seeing that he had ar-
rested their attention, lie proceeded, " When Ma-
h^ga was young, when our fathers were war-
riors, who was so strong as the Washashe'},
Our hunters killed the deer and the bison from
the Neska to the Topeo-kii.* The Konsas were
our brothers, and we were afraid of none. But
the Mahe-hunguht came near, their tongues
were smooth, their hands were full, and the
Washashe listened to their talk ;— is it not iso 1"

A deep jnurmur testified the attention of Ms
auditors; but Mahega knew that he was ventur-
ing on dangerous ground, and his present object
was rather to incite them to vengeance against
the band of Delawares and the^r guests, than
against the white men in general. Ete resumed
bis harangue in a milder tone.

" The Long-knives smoked the pipe of peace
with us, we gave them meat, and skins, and they
gave us paint, and blankets, and iire-weapons
with Medicine-powder and lead,— all that was
well J but who came with the Long-knives,— the
Lenap6 !" He paused a moment, then looking
fiercely round, he continued in a louder strain ;
"and who are these Lenap6 7 They were
beggars when they came to us ! Their skin is
red, but their hearts are pale. Do we not
know the tale of their fathers 1 Were thev not
slaves to the warriprs of other nations 1% Were
they not women 1 Did they not leave the war-
path to plant maize, and drink th^ fire-water of
the Long-knives 1 They gave up their hunting
ground; they left the bones of their fathers ; they
crossed the Ne-o-hunge,l and asked for the friend-
ship of the Washashe. We lighted the pipe for
them ; we received them like brothers, and open-
ed to them our hunting ground ; but their hearts
are bad to us, Washashes, Mahega tells you that
the Lenape are snakes 1"

Another deep guttural sound, indicative of in-
creased excitement^ gratified the speaker's ear,
and he continued in a strain yet bolder. <<Is
Mah^a not a chief? Has h6 not struck the
bodies of his enemies? Are there no scalps on
his wap-shirt? He was good to these Lcnap^,
he treated their warriors like brothers, he offer-
ed to make Olitipa his wife, they gave him bitter
words and threw dirt upon his lodge. Shall the
Washashe chief be called a Dog V* he exclaimed
in a voice of thunder, " Shall he sit on the ground
while a Lenap^ spits in his face ?"

A shout of anger and furv burst from the au-
dience, as waving his hand impatiently for si-
lence,'he went on, " The Lenap6 knew that (heir
hearts were false, their arms weak, their tongues
forked, and they have brought in a band of Long-

* The Indiaa names for the riTdrt now called " Eooisas*^
Mid " Osa^," both of which fall into the Missouri.

t Angheif Long-knives, or Americans.

t Mahega here alludes to that unfortunate en, in the
history of the Lenap6, so pathetically described by Hecke-
walder, when they permitted themselves to be jMrsuaded
by the .whites to abandon, all their warlike weapons and
pursuits, and following those of agri6ulture, to leave the af-
fairs of war entirely to the northern tribes, who guaranteed
their safety. The consequence was such as might have
been ezpectt 'i, they were treated with contumely and in*
««ftice ; and leing compelled, at lengtH, to resume those
arms to which they had been for some time unaccustomed,
they suffered repeated defeats and disasters from the " six
aauons," and adjoining tribes.

$ The MissisdpjH is so called by the Osages.

knives to defend them and to drive the Wasb^
ashe from their hunting grohnds. Shall it be so 1
Shall we hold our backs to be scourged like
children 1 Shall we whine like starved wolves 1
See how the pale faces can insult your chief."
As he spoke Mahega tore the turkan with one'
hand from his head, and holding up his severed |
scalp lock with the other, while every muscle of
his countenance worked with fury, " See what !
the hand of a white-face boy has done. Mah^^a
slept under a tree, and he whom they call Neus,
the stradger who has eaten our meat and smoked
with our chiefs, stole upon Mahega, struck him
on the head^ and cut ofi his hair." As he utter-
ed this audacious falsehood, which was, of
course, believed by all who heard him, a terrific
shout burst from the assembled Osages, and the
wily chief, striking while the iron was hot^ ^
went on,.

" It is enough— the Washashes are not wom-
en; they will dig up the hatchet, and throw it
into the council-lodge of these white-faced and
pale-hearted dogs. The great chief of the Dah**
cotahs has spoken to Mah6ga; he seeks the
friendship of the Washashes; the Dahcotahs
are men ; the bisons on their hunting grounds
are like the leaves in the forest. They wish to
call the Washashes brothers, they wait fpr Ma-
h6ga*s words. — What shall he say ?"

A tremendous shout was raised in reply, a
shout that could be heard throughout the whole
encampment. Mahega saw that his triumph
was complete, and folding his medicine robe over
his shoulder, he once more waved his hand for
silence, and dismissed the assembly, saying,
"Before the sun sinks again the chiefs and
braves will meet in council. The Washashes
will hear their words and they will be ready."
As he spoke he cast his dark eye expressively
downwards to the tomahawk suspended at his
belt, and slowly re-entered his lodg^. '

Meanwhile the youth who had been seni
by War-Eagle to observe what was passing
in the Osage encampment, executed his com-
mission with fidelity wa.d address. Although
not sufficiently familiar with the language to
catch all that fell from Mah^s^a, he yet learned
enough to satisfy his young chief that a rupture
was at hand. It only remained now to be proved
whether it would take place as the result of an
open council, or whether the Osages would with-
draw secretly to their new Dahcotah allies.

On the morning succeeding the events above
related, War-Eagle left the encampment before
daybreak, partly to see whether he could dis-
cover any unusual stir among the Osages, andjMj^
partly to revolve in his mind .the course of coo^Hir
duct that he should suggest if called fipon tSf^
give his opinion before the Lenape council.
Many various emotions were struggling in his
bosom, and in this respect the descendants of
Adam, whether their skins be white or red, so
far resemble each other, that on such occasions
they seek to avoid the turmoil of their fellow-
men, and to be for a season alone amid the works
of inanimate nature.

It was with impressions hnd feelings far dif-
ferent that Reginald and Prairie-bird found them-
selves soon alter sunrise together, as if by tacit
appointment, by the great tree, under which he
had first seen her. In order to guard against the
treachery of which he believed Mahega capable,
he had communicated to Baptiste the events or
the preceding morning, and had desired him to
watch the movements of the latter, es]^iUl

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD,

85

pa

lb

piarrfing Prairie-bird against any renewal of
his violence. The trusty forester, who had

frown extremely taciturn since he had observed
is young master's attachment, shrugged his
fehoulders, and briefly promised to obey his in-
structions. He was too shrewd to oppose a toi^
rent such as that by which Reginald was carried
away; and, although it must be confessed that
he had many misgivings as to the reception that
the tidings would meet with at the hands of Col-
onel Brandon, the beauty and gentleness of Prai-
rie-bird had so far won upon his rough nature
that he was well disposed to protect her from the
machinations of the Osage. With these inten-
tions he followed her when she left her lodge,
and as soon as she entered the thicket before de-
tcribed, he ensconced himself in a shady comer
whence he could observe the approach of any
party from the encampment.

We will now follow the steps of War-Eagle,
who. having satisfied himself by a careful obser-
vation of the out piquette that no immediate
movement was on foot among the Qsages, turn-
ed towards the undulating prairies to the west-
ward of the village.

He was in an uneasy and excited mood, both
from the treachery of the Osages towaras his
tribe, and various occurrences which had of late
wounded bis feelings in the quarter where they
were most sensitive.

The victory over self, is the greatest that can
be achieved by man, it assumes, however, a dif-
ferent complexion in those who are guiaed by
the light or nature, and in those who have been
taught by revelation. In the heathen it is con-
fined to the actions and to the outward man,
whereas in the Christian it extends to the mo-
tives and feelings of the heart. The former may
Epare an enemy, the latter must learn to forgive
and leve him. But in both cases the struggle is
severe in proportion to the strength of the pas-
sion which is to be combated. In War-Eagle
were combined many of the noblest features of
the Indian character; but his passions had all
Ihe fierce intensity common to nis race, and al-
though the instructions of Paul Miiller. falling
tike good seed on a wild but fertile soil, had hu-
manizecl and improved him ; his views of Chris-
tianity were incipient and indistinct, while the
courage, pride, and feelings of his race were in
the full zenith of their power. He had long
known that Prairie-bird was not his sister in
blood, she had grown up from childhood under
his eye, and unconsciously perhaps at first, he
had loved her, and still loved ner with all the im-
passioned fervour of his nature. It may be re-
membered in the esfrlier portion of this tale,

hon he first became acquainted with Reginald,
that he had abstained from all mention of her
name, and had avoided the subject whenever
young Wingenund brought it forward. He had
never yet asked Olitipa to become his wife, but
the sweet gentleness of her manner, and her
open contempt for the addresses of the handsome
and distinguished Osage, had led him to form ex-
pectations favourable to his own suit. At the
%me time there was something in the maiden's
Debaviour th&t had frequently caused him to
doubt whether she loved him, and sharing ii^he
awe witQ which she inspired all the Indians
aroundTher, be had hitherto hesitated and feared
to make a distinct avowal. Of late he had been
80 much occupied in observing the suspicious
movements of the Osages that his attention had
leen somewhat withdrawn from Olitipa : he was

aware of her having become acquainted with
Reginald, and the adventure of the preceding
day, which had been communicated to him, fill-
ed him with an uneasiness that he could no"
conceal from himself, although he had succeed-
ed in concealing it from others.

In tois frame of mind, he was returning to the
camp, along the course of the streamlet pasji-
ing through the grove where the rencounter
of the preceding day had occurred. When he
reached the opening before described, his eyes
rested on a sight that transfixed him to the spot. ^
Seated on one of the projecting roots of the an- '
cient tree was Prairie-bird, her eye and cheek
glowing with happiness, and her ear drinking in
the whispered vows of her newly betrothed lover ;
her hand was clasped in his, and more than once
he pressed it tenderly to his lips. For several
minutRS, the Indian stood silent and motionless
as a statue : despair seemed to have checked the
current of his blood, but by slow degrees con-
sciousness returned; he saw her, the maiden
whom he had served and loved for weary months
and years, now interchanging with another to-
kens of affection not to be mistaken, and that
other a strancer whom he had himself lately
brought by his own invitation from a distant
region.

The demon of jealousy took instant possession
of his soul ; every other thought, feeling, and
passion, was for the time annihilated, the noblei*
impulses of his nature w*ere forgotten, and he
was, in a moment, transformed to a merciless
savage, bent on swift and deadly vengeance.
He only paujsed as in doubt, how he should kill
his rival ; perhaps, whether he should kill them
both ; his eye dwelt upon them with a stem
ferocity, as he loosened the unerring tomahawk
from his belt ; another moment he paused, for
his hand trembled convulsively, and a cold sweat
stood like dew upon his brow. At this terrible
crisis of his passion, a low voice whispered in -
his ear, in the Delaware tongue,

" Would the Lenap6 chief stain his Medicine
with a brother's blood 1" War-Eagle turning
round, encountered th6 steady eye of Baptists ;
he gave no answer, but directed nis fiery glance
towards the spot where the unconscious lovers
were seated, and the half raised weapon still vi-
brated under the impulse of the internal struggle
that shook every muscle of the Indian's frame.
Profiting bv the momentary pause, Baptists
continued, m the same tone, " Shall the toma-
hawk of the War- Eagle strike an adopted son of
the Unami 1* The Bad Spirit has entered my
brother's heart; let him hold a talk with himself
and remember that he is the son ot Tamenund."

By an effort of self-control, such as none but
an Indian can exercise, War-Eagle subdued, in-
stantaneously, all outward indication of the tem-
pest that had neen aroused in his breast. Re-
placing the tomahawk in his belt, he drew him-
self proudly to his full height, and, fixing on the
woodsman an eye calm and steady as his own,
he replied,

" Grande-Hache speaks truth; War-Eagle ia
a chief; the angry Spirit is strong ; but he tram-
ples it under his feet." He then added, in a

* AfUr their first meeting, in which Reginald had saved
the life of War-Eagle, the latter had adopted his new
friend, not only as a brother, but as a member of that por
tion of his tribe who were called Unami, and of which tlw
turtle was the Medicine, or sacred symbol ; after the ratifi-
cation of such a eorenant of brotherhood, each par^ is, ao«
cording to Indian castom, solemnly bound to defend th*
other, on all occasions, at the risk of his own life.

Sb

THE PRAIRIE. BIKD.

■ Icwer iOLe, " War-Eagle vill speak to Netis ;
cat now; if his white brother's tongue has been
forliced, the Medicine of the Unami shall not pro-
tect him. The sky is very black, and War-Eagle
bas no friend left." So saying, ihe Indian threw
his light blanket over his shoulder and stalked
gloomily from the spot. ^

Baptiste followed with his eye the retreating
figure of the Delaware, until it was lost in the
dense foliage of the wood.

" He w a. noble fellow," said the rough hunter,
half aloud, leaning on his long rifle, and pursu-
ing the thread of nis own reflections. *^ He is
one of the old sort of Ingians, and there's but
^ew of 'em left. I've been with him in several
skrimmages, and I've seen him strike and scalp
more than one Dahcotah ; but I never saw the

J flare of his eye so wild and blood-thirsty before ;
f he had kept his purpose, my old sinews would
kave had some trouble to save Master Reginald
from that tcmahawk. It's well for him that I've
• lived long enough among the Delawares to know
ihe ins and outs of their natur*, as well as John
Skellup at the ferry knows the sand-bars and
Channels in Bearcreek Shallows. I thought the
Unami Medicine whispered in his ear might do
something ; but I scarcely hoped It could smoth-
er such a Are in a minute. I remember, when I
Was young, I was in a hot passion, now and
^en, myself. Capote ! I'm sometimes in a pas-
sion still, when I think of those cut-throat Sioux,
and if my bristles are up, it takes some time to
8mck)th 'em down." Here the woodsman's hand
unconsciously rested for a moment on the huge
axe suspended at his belt ; but his musings took
another course, as he continued his muttered
soliloquy.

" Well, I sometimes think the bears and the
deer have more reason than human critturs, ay,
and I believe that shot isn't overwide o' the
mark. Look at them two youngsters. Master
Reginald and War-Eagle, two brave, honest
hearts as ever lived ; one saves the other's life ;
they become brothers and swear friendship; of a
sudden, I am obliged to step in between 'em, to
Iprevent one from braining the other with a tom-
ahawk. And what's the cause. of all this hate
and fury 1 Why, love — a pair of black eyes and
red lips ; a strange kind of love, indeed, that
makes a man hate and kill his best friend ; thank
Heaven, I have nothing to do with such love ;
and I say, as I said before, that the dumb ani-
mals have more reason than human critturs.
Well, I must do all I can to make 'em friends
again, for a blind man might see they'll need
each other's help, ere many days are past 1"

So saying, the woodsman threw his rifle into
the hollow of his arm, and moved towards Regi-
nald Brandon, who, unconscious of the danger
that he had so narrowly escaped, was still en-
gaged with Prairie-bird in that loving dialogue
which finds no satiety in endless reiteration.

Baptiste drew near, and, after the usual greet-
ings, took an opportunity, as he thought unob-
served by Prairie-bird, of making a sign to Re-
ginald that he wished to speak with him in pri-
vate ; but the maiden, watchful of every move-
ment directly or indirectly affecting her lover,
and already aware of the intri^nes and treachery
of the Osages, said to him with her usual sim-
plicity of manner, " Baptiste, if you have aught
to say requiring ray absence, I will go; but as
there are dangers approaching that threaten us
all alike, do not fear to speak before me. I know
something of these people, and though only an

unskilled maiden, my thoughts might be ot aom.
avail."

The sturdy bunterj although possessed of a
shrewd judgment, was somewhat confused by
this direct appeal ; but after smoothing down the
hair of his fur cap for a few moments, as was
his custom when engaged in reUection, he re-
solved to speak before her without concealment ;
and he proceeded accordingly, with the blunt
honesty of his nature, to narrate to them all the
particulars of his late interview with War-
Eagle. During his recital, both the auditors
changed colour more than once, with different
yet sympathetic emotions ; and when he conclu-
ded, Reginald suddenly arose, and, fixing: his
eye upon the maiden's countenance, as if he
would read her soul, he said,

" Prairie-bird, I conjure you bv all you Iovq
on earth, and by all your hopes of Heaven I tell
me truly, if you have known and encouraged
these feelings in War-Eagle t"

The dark eyes that had been cast to the
ground with various painful emotions, were
raised at this appeal, and met her lover's search-
ing look with the modest courage of conscious
truth as she replied,

" Reginald, is it possible that vou can ask me
such a question 1 Olitiba, the foundling -of the
Delawares. loved War-Eagle as she loved Win-
genund ; she was brought up in the same lodge ,
with both ; she called both, brother; she thought
of them only as such I Had War-Eagle ever
asked for other love, she would have told him
she had none other to give ! She knew of none
other, until—until—" The presence of a'third
person checked the words that strutted for ut-
terance ; her deep eyes filled ^ith tears, and shii
hid them on Reginald's bosom.

" I were worse than an infidel, could I doubt
thy purity and truth," he exclaimed with fer-
vour ; " baptiste, I will {«peak with my Indian
brother. — I pity *him from my heart — I will
strive all in my power to soothe his sorrow ; for
I, and I alone can know what he must suffer,
who has, in secret and in vain, loved such a be-
ing as this I Let us return."

Slowly and sadly they wended their way to.
the encampment, the guide brioging up the rear.
He was thoroughly convinced that Prairie-bird
had spoken the truth: every look, every accent
carried conviction with it ; but he feared for the
meeting between the young men, being fully
aware of the impetuosity of Reginald's charac-
ter, and of the intense excitement that now af-
fected the Indian's mind. He determined, how-
ever, to leave them to themselves, tor he had
lived enough among men of stormy and ungov<
erned passions to know, that in a UU-h-lHe be^
tween two high and generous spirits a conces-
sion will often be made, to which pride might,
in the presence of others, never have submitted.

On reaching their quarters in the encamp-
ment, they found Paul Muller standing thought-
fully before Prairie-bird's tent, into which, alter
exchanging a brief but cordial greeting, he and
the maiden withdrew, leaving Reginald and the
guide to retire into the adjoining lodge of Tame-
nund.

War-Eagle, who had posted himself in a spot
whence, without being seen himself, he coul2
observe their movements, now walked slcwly
forward to the entrance of the tent, into whica
he was immediately invited by the Missionary:
his manner was grave and composed, nor coul^
the most observant eve have traced, in the line

THE PRAIRIE-BIBD.

87

^his 30ii]itenaiice, the slightest shade of excite-
ment 9r agitation.

After the usual salatation, he said, ** War-
Eagle will speak to the Black-Father presently;
he has now low words for the ear of Olitipa."

Paul Miiller, looking oh him with a smile,
benevolent though somewhat melancholy, said,
*' I shut my ears, my son, and go, for 1 know
vlAt Wa^Eagle will speak nothing that his sis-
ter should not hear;" and so saying, he retired
into his adjacent compartment of the tent. Prai-
rie-bird, conscious of the painful scene that
awaited her, sat in embarrassed silence, and for
npwands of a minute War-Eagle contemplated
without speaking the sad but lovely expression
cf the maiden's countenance; that long and pier-
cing look told him all that he dreaded to know ;
he saw that Baptiste had spoken to her ; he saw
chat his hopes were blasted; and stiU his riveted
gaze was fixed upon her, as the eyes of one ban-
ished for life dwell upon the last receding tints
of the home that be is leaving for ever. Collect-
ing, at length, all the stoic firmness of his nature,
he sppke to her in the Delaware tongae; the
woias that he used were few and simple, but
in them, and in the tone of his voice, there was
so much delicacy mingled with such depth of
feeling, that Prairie-bird could not refrain from
tears.

Answering him in the same language, she
blended her accustomed sincerity of expression
with gentle words of soothing kindness; and, in
concluding her reply, she took his hand in hers,
saying, ** Olkipa has long loved her brothers,
War-Eagle and Wingenund, let not a cloud
come between them now ; her heart is not chan-
ged to the great warrior of Lenapo ; his sister
trusts to bis protection ; she is proud of his fame ;
she has no other love to give him ; her race, her
religion, her heart forbid it 1 but he is her dear
trother; he will not be angry, nor leave her.

"Mah^ga and the Osages are become en-
emies; the Daheotah trail is near; Tamenund is
old and weak: where shall Olitipa find a broth-
er's love, and a brother's aid, if War-Eagle
taras away his face from her now V*

The noble heart to which she appealed had
f^e through its fiery ordeal of torture, and tri-
umphed over it. After the manner of his tribe,
the Delaware, before relinquishing her hand,
pressed it for a moment to his chest, in token of
affection, and said, " It is enough, my sister's
words are good, they are not spilt upon the
grourd; lei Mah^gH or the Dahcotahs come
«ear ine lodge of Olitipa, and they shall learn
(hat War-E^le is her brother 1" The chief-
iv s hand rested lightly on his tomaha\K^k, and
if countenance, as he withdrew (torn the tent,
«r jre an expression of high and stern resolve.

How bften^in life is the observation forced
rpott us, that'artlessness is the highest perfec-
tion of art ! It is an axiom, the truth o€ which
:eaains unchanged under whatever aspect we
vtew it, and is indisputable even in its con-
verse ; thus, as in writing, the apparent ease and
sitnplioity of J^yle is the result of frequent cor-
rection and laborious study; so in corporeal ex-
ercises, the most assiduous practice must be
combined with the highest pnysica. quaiifica-
tions, ere the dancer or the posture-masteir can
emulate the unconscious grace displayed in the
movements of a sportive kitten, or a playful
child.

Had Prairie-bird been familiar with all the
Wned treatises on rhetoric that have appeared

Irom the time of Aristotle to the present day,
she could not have selected topics better calcu-
lated to move and soften the heart of her Indian
brother. And yet she had no other instructor
in the art than the natural delicacy of her sex
and character. While the tribute to his warlike
fame gratified his pride, the unstudied sisterlv
aifection of her tone and manner soothed hts
wounded feelings; and while her brief picture
of her unprotected state aroused all his nobler
and more generous sentiments, no breath of allu-
sion to his successful rival's name kindled the
embers of jealousy that slumbered beneath them.
As he walked from her tent, the young In-
dian's heart dilated within him ; he trod the
earth with a proud and lordly step ; he had grap-
pled with his passion ; and though it had been
riveted '* to his soul with hooks of steel," he had
plucked it forth with an unflinching hand, and
ne now met his deep-rootedvgrief with the same
lofty brow and unconqueraoie will with which
he would have braved the tortures of the Dah-
eotah stake.

CHAPTER XXV.

In which the Reader will ftnd • moiml X^aqntritien
what tediona, a true Story aomewhat lucredibtet a Coa-
ference that enda in Peaije, aad a Ckiuncil that beUduttta
War.

It is not a feature in the character of Indians
to do anything by halves; their love and their
hate, their patience and impatience, their absti-
nence and self-indulgence, all are apt to run
into extremes. Moderation is essentially a vir-
tue ^f civilization ; it is the result of forethought,
reasoning, and a careful calculation of conse-
quences, whereas the qualities of the Indian are
rather the children of impulse, and are less mod-
ified by conflicting motives; hence, the lights
and shades of character are broader and more
distinct; and though it may be perhaps impossi-
ble that Indian villany should assume a deeper
dye than that which may unfortunately be met
with among civilized nations, it is not asserting
too moch to say, that there are to be found
among these savages instances of disinterested,
self-devoted heroism, such as are rarely heard
of beyond the world of chivaly and romance.

This assertion will be received by manv read-
ers with an incredulous smile, and still more
will be disposed to believe that it cam be true
only in reference to such virtues or actions as
are the immediate result of a generous impulse ;
but examples are not wanting to prove the argu-
ment to be defensible upon higher grounds. It
will readily be admitted, that retributive justice,
although consonant to the first principles of rea-
son and natural law, cannot, when deliberately
enforced, be considered in the light of a sudden
impulse, much less can it be so considered whet,
the party enforcing it is to be himself the suffer-
er by it; and those who are conversant with the
history of the Indian nations can testify that par-
allel instances to that which follows have fre-
quently occurred among them.

Some years ago, a young married Indian, re-
siding on the western bank of the Mississippi,
quarrelled with another of his tribe, and in the
heat of passion killed him with a blow of Tte
tomahawk. After a few moments' reflection he
walked direct to the village, and presenting him-
self before the wigwam of the murdered man,
called together his relations, and addressed them
as follows :

!»

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

'< Your relatiTe was my friend; we were to-
Kether,-H3oine angry worais arose between us, — I
killed him on the spot. My life is in your hands,
and I have come to offer It to you ; but the sum-
mer hunting season has now begun. I have a
wife and some yomig children, they have done
you no wrong; ) ,wish to go out into the woods
to kill a plentiful supply of meat, such as may
feed them during the winter; when I hare done
that, I will return and give myself to you."

The stem assembly of mourners gave their as-
sent, and the young man retired : for many weeks
he toiled indefatigably iu the chase, his wife
jerked ahd dried the meaC as he daily brought it
' in, until he saw that th«; supply was ample for
the ensuing winter ; he then bid farewell to her
and to his little ones, and once more presenting^
himself before the wigwam of his late iriend, he
said, *' I am come : my squaw has meat for the
winter, my life is now yours !" To these words
the eldest male relative of the deceased replied,
" It is well:" and rising from the ground, execu-
ted on- the unresisting offender the summarj
justice of Indian retribution^ by cleaving his
skull with a tomahawk.' Neither the self-devo-
tion of the one, nor the unrelenting severity of
the other, excited any peculiar sensation, each
having acted according to the strict, though ttir-
barous usage of the tribe. ^

Among a people accustomed to look with sto-
ic composure on scenes such as that just de-
scribed, War-Eagle had already won a distin-
guished name, and he supported it on this trying
occasion by resigning what was dearer to him
than life, and crushing, as under a weight of iron,
that passion which had been for years the hope
and nourishment of his heart ; whether, albeit
crushed and smothered, it still lingered there, is
a secret which it is neither our wish nor our
province to betray, but regarding which the read-
er may form his own opinion from the subse-
quent conduct of the chief.

His first step was to seek Reginald Brandon,
whom he desired, by a silent signal, to leave the
lodge and follow him. Our hero mechanically
obeyed, in a painful st's^te of excitement and agi-
tation, feeling that he had been the^ unconscious
means of blasting all the dearest hopes of his In-
dian friend; and although he had intended no
injnry, he was sensible that he had done one,
suc^ as man can rarely foigive, and can never
repair; for even had the romantic generosity of
friendship prompted him to resign all pretensions
to Prairie^ird, he felt that such a resignation,
while he was secure of her affections, would be
mere mockery and insult. He knew also how
prominent a feature is revenge in the Indian
character, and thought it not improbable that he
might be now following his conductor to some
secluded spot, where their rivalry should be de-
cided bv mortal strife, and the survivor return to
claim tne lovely prize. This last thought, which
would, under any other circumstances, have ner-
ved his arm and made his heart exult within
him, now overwhelmed him with sadness, for he
loved both Wingenund and War-Eagle, they
were endeared to him by reciprocal benefits, and
ne shrunk from a quarrel with the latter as from
a fratricide.

Meanwhile the Indian strode rapidly forward ;
neither could Reginald detect the feelings that
larked beneath the dignified and unmoved com-
posure of his countenance.

After walking in silence for some minutes,
hev leaehed a small hollow, where a few scat- 1

tered alder-bushes, screened them fjrom the o»
servation of the stragglers round the skirts of th«
Delaware camp : here the chief suddenly halted,
and turning towards Reginald, bent on him thk
full gaze of his dark and lustrous eyes; the lat
ter observed with surprise that their expression,
as well as that of his usually haughty features,
was a deep composed melancholy.
At length the Delaware broke the long and

Eainful silence, addressing his companion, after
is imperfect notion af English, in the following
words :

'' The Great Spirit sent a ^loud between Netis
and War-Eagle— a very black cloud; the light-
ning came from it and blinded the eyes of the
Lenap6 chief, so that he looked on his brother
and thought he saw an enemy. The Bad Spirit
whispered in his ear that the tongue of Nelis was
forked; that the heart of Olitipa was false; that
she had listened to a mockins--foird, and had
mingled for War-Eagle a cup of poison."

The Delaware paused for a moment ; his eye
retained its steady but sad expression, bis lips
were firmly compressed, and not a mu^ie be-
trayed the intensity of his feeling; but Reginald •
appreciated rightly the self-control that had con-
quered, in so severe a struggle, and grasping his
mend's hand he said,

"Noble and generous son of the Lenap6, the
Bad Spirit has no power over a heart like yours i
Are we not brothers'? Have not the waters of
the Muski^igum, and the treacherous knife of the
Huron, tied our hearts together, so that no fear,
no suspicion, no falsehood, can come between
theml Netis believed that War-Eagle loved
Olitipa only as a sister, or he would rather have
given his scalp to Mah^ga than have spoken
soft words in the maiden's ear!"

^' My brother's words are true," ieplied the
Delaware, in the low and musical tone for which
his voice was remarkable ; " War-Eagle knows
it ; he has dreamed, and is now awake : Olitipa is
his sister— the Great Spirit decrees that no chiki
of an Indian warrior shall call her mother. It is
enough." The countenance of the Delaware as-
sumed a sterner expression as he continued:

" My brother must be ready ; let his rifle be
loaded and his eye open, for Tamenond'has
seen the snow of many winters; the Black Fa-
ther is good and true, but his hand knows not
the tomahawk: the Osage panther will crouch
near the tent of Olitipa, and the feet of the Cat-
throats* will not be far; before the sun goes dowa.
War-Eagle will see his brother again."

Thus saying, and waiting no reply, he return-
ed with heartv strides towards the village. Re-^
ginald gazed long and earnestly after the retrea '
ing figure of the Indian, forgetting awhile, in a
miration of his heroic sell-control, the dange
that beset his beloved and his party.

" Could I," he asked himself, *cottld I. under
the same circumstances, with all the iignt. and
aid, and high motives of Christianity, have
shown the forbearance, generosity, and self-corn
mand displayed by this noble heathen 1 Could
I have seen all my long-cherished hopes, my
warm and passionate love, blasted in a moment,
and have so soon, so trankly, and so fully excul-
pated and forgiven the man to whom I owed my
misery? I hope I might have. done so, sti)l i
am airaid to asK my heart the question !"

Reginald's cheek glowed under the influence

u-

W

* The Sionx, or Daheotahs, an lo d«agnated by t]i#
MiDMmii tribaa.

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

89

L

ot this self-scratiny, and he gladly arailed him-
self of the approach of Panl M^ler, to whom he
related what had passed, and expressed in the
varmest terms his admiration of his Indian
brother's conduct The good Missionary felt in-
expressibly relieved at hearing the amicable is-
sue now announced to him, for akhough he had
ueTer been made a confidant of War-Eagle's
feelings towards Olitipa, his own observation
had shown him of late that thev were not exact-
ly iiatemal, and he had viewed with dread a ri-
valry between the two high-spirited young men,
at a crisis when the aid of both might be so ne-
cessary to protect his fair pupil from the perils
by which she was surrounded.
Meanwhile the machinations of Mah%a, whicU
• sad been conducted with his accustomed secrecy
and cunning, were almost ripe for execution ;
several runners had interchanged communica-
tion between him and the Dancotah chief, the
latter of whom was delighted at the prospect
thus unexpectedly offered, of taking vengeance
on hi«i ancient and hated Lenap^ foes. A secret
council of the Osages had been held, at which a
treaty with the Sioux and a rupture with the
Delawares were discussed, and almost unanV
mously carried, Mah6ga appearing rather to
have coincided in the general determination than
u> have caused it by his influence and intrigues.
The result of this council was, that the Osage
village im'mediately struck their lodges, the
horses were driven in, skins, poultry, provisions,
and all theii utensils were packed upon them,
and in a lew hours the whole body moved in a
northeasterly direction towards the upper fork
of the river Konzas. *

While they were departing, the Delaware
council was summoned by a crier; Reginald
and Baptiste were also invited to attend, the
former in compliment to his station in the tribe
as adopted brother of War-Eagle, the latter being
recognised as a warrior of tried couragb and
experience. The chiefs and braves having
seated themselves in a semicircle, the centre of
which was occupied by Tamenund, the great
medicine pipe was first passed round in silence
and with the accustomed solenmities, aAer which
Tamenund arose, and in a voice feeble from age,
hut distinctly audible, proceeded to explain to
ihe assembly the affairs respecting which they
had met to consult. While he was speaking,
one of the Indians appointed to guard the en-
trance ipf the council-lodge came in, and an-
nounced a messenger from the Osage encamp-
ment. Tamenund paused, and desired the mes-
j^apger to be introduced.
^^LAll eyes were bent sternly on the envoy, who
^■vanced with a haughty and dignified step into
^he centre of the lodge, where he stood still, and
resting on a long lance which he held in his
right hand, awaiie4, according to Indian custom,
a signal from the council-chief to deliver his er-
rand. His dress, and'the paint by which his
body was adorned, had evidently been prepared
with every attention to the niceties of Indian di-
plomacy, some portions of it being significant
of peace or alliance, and others of hostile prep-
aration : his right side was painted red,' with
streaks of black; on his leA arm he wore a
round shield of buffalo-hide, a quiver of arrows
hung at his back, a tomahawk and^knife were in
his girdle, and in his left hand he carried a large
suing of wampum,* adorned with sundry ribbons

tod thongs of parti-coloured deersl^n.

*'WampvM, » cwTuptioB of the word " wampampoa,'*

The Delawares recognised in the messenger
a young kinsman of M^h^sa, one who had al-
ready distinguished himself by several feats of
daring gallantry, and had been lately enrolled
among the braves of his nation. He had hith-
erto been upon the most friendly terms ^^ith the
Lenap^, was familiar with their language, and
bad volunteered on more than one occai^ion to
follow War-Eagle on the war-path ; but the lines
of paint and his accoutrements were now, as
has before been observed, so carefully selected,
that their practised eyes were unable to decide
whether peace or war was the object of his mis-
sion ; neither was any inference to be drawn from
his countenance or bearing, for, after the first
cold saluation <^ entering, he leaned on his lance
in an attitude of haughty indifference. Under
these circumstances he was not invited to sit,
neither was the pipe handed to him, but Tame-
nund briefly addressed him as follows :

**The messenger of the Osage may speak.
The ears of the Lenap^ are open."

*^ Flying-arrow,'' replied the young man, in a
modest and quiet tone, ** knows that many win-
ters have passed over the head of the Lenape
chief; he is sorry to speak hard words to Tame-
nund."

" Let the young warrior speak freely ; Tame-
nund knows that he is the mouth of the Osage
council," was the grave reply.

"The Washashee say that the Lenap6 have
walked in a crooked path. The council have
assembled, and the words delivered to Flying-
arrow are these. The Washashee allowed the ^
Lenap6 to kill meat on their hunting-ground,
they smoked the pipe together, and gave each
other the wampum-belt of peace ; but the Lena|)e
hearts are white, though their skin is red ; their
tongues are smooth with telling many lies : thsy
have brought the pale-faces here to aid them in
driving the Washashee from the hunting-fields
of their fathers! Is it not true'}" continued the
fearless envoy, in a louder 'strain, j* They have
done all they can to throw dirt upon the lodges
of those whom they call brothers. When Ma-
h6ga offered to take the daughter of Tamenund
as his wife, what was said to him 1 Does not
the pale face who crept upon him and defiled his
mecficine, still sit and smoke at the Lenap^ firel
Mah^a says, let Tamenund give him Olitipa
for a wife, and the pale-face, called Netis, as a
prisoner, and let him send back the other white
men to the Great river; then Mahega will be-
lieve that the hearts of the Lenap^ are true to
the friendship pledged on this belt."

Thus saymg, he shook the wampum before
the assembled Delawares with an air of proud
defiance. A brief pause followed this daring
speech; the heart of War-Eagle boiled within
him, but a scornful smile sat upon his haughty
countenance, as he waited composedly for the
reply of his rather, who seemed engaged in deep
and serious meditation.

Reginald had, of course, been unable to follow
the envoy's discourse, but his quick ear had de-
tected his own name ; and a fierce look, which
accompanied its pronunciation, told him that he
was personally interested in the object oC the
Osage's messagre. Having gathered from Bap-
tiste, in a whisper, the nature of Mah^ga^s
charge and demand, a flush of indignation col-
oured his brow, but the examples of self-com-

■mall ihells strung together, md ttaed by the IndiauB fk
barter among themaelvei ; a belt of wampum is the e^>>» «
of peace, as the batohet, or tomahawk, is Ibat a' war.

no

THE PBAIRIE-BIRD

'mand that he had so lately seen, and that he still
witnessed in the iron features by which he was
surroanded, taught him to place a like restraint
upon his own feelings, and to await the reply of
the aged chief.

The latter, fixing his eye sternly upon the en-
voy, thus addressed him: "Mah^ga has filled
\he young brave's* mouth with lies. The hearts
ot the Lenap6 are true as the guiding-star.* They
are faithful to their friends, they fear no enemies.
Tamenund will not give Olitipa to Mahe^a, nor
his adopted son to be the Washashee's prisoner.
Tamenund is old, but he is not blind \ Mah^ga
wishes to become a friend of the Dahcotahs. It
is well ; he will find among them hearts as bad,
and tongues as forked as his own! I have
spoken."

A deep murmur of approbation followed the
aged chiefs brief but enere:etic harangue, and^as
Boon as it was concluded^ the fearless messen-
ger drew a sharp knife from his girdle, and sev-
ering the wampum-belt, he csc^t the two halves
on the ground, saying, " It is well. Thus is the
league between the Washashee and the Lenap6
divided !"

Baptiste, to whom Reginald had again ad-
dressed a few words in a whisper, now rose, and
having requested permission of Tamenund, said
to the Osage messenger : " Netis desires you to tell
Mah6ga that he is a liar — brave enough to frighten
women, but nothing more. If he is a warrior,
let him fiome to-morrow at sunrise to the opei\
prairie, north of the camp ; the friends of both
shall stand back three arrowflights apart * Netis
will meet him with a rifle and a hunting-knife -,
Olitipa will not be there to save his life again I"

Another murmur of approbation went round
the assembly, many of wnom had already heard
of the rough treatment that the gigantic Osage
had received at Reginald's hands, but hearing it
now confirmed by the lips of a tried warrior, like
Grande-H&che, they looked with increased re-
spect and esteem on the adopted brother of War-
Eagle.

*' Flying-arrow will tell Mahgga," wa» the
brief reply ; and the messenger, glancing bis eye
haughtily around the circle, left the lodge and
returned to the encampment of his tribe. After
his departure the council continued their delib-
erations for some time, and had not yet conclu-
ded them, when a distant and repeated shouting
attracted their attention, and a Delaware youth,
of about fifteen years of age, rushed into the
lodge, breathless, and bleeding from a wound
inflicted by an arrow, which had pierced his
shoulder. A few hurried sentences explained to
the chiefs the news of which he was the bearer.
It appeared that he had been tending, in a bottom
not far distant, a herd of horses, chiefly belong-
ing to Tamenund, War-Eagle, and the party of
white men, when a band of mounted Sioux
came sweeping down the valley at fnll speed ;
»wo or three young Pelawares, who formed the
>ut-picquet on that side, had been taken com-
pletely by surprise, and paid with their lives the
penalty of their carelessness.

The wounded .youth who brought the intelli-
gence had only escaped by his extreme swift-
Des3 of foot, and by the unwillingness of the en-
emy to approach too near the camp. Thus had
the Dahcotahs succeeded in carrying ofl^, by a
bold stroke, upwards of one hundred of the best
h orses from the Delaware village ; and Reginald

The North star is often alladed to hj the Indian tribes
f^-tjit thie and other simQar deBominalietta.

soon learned, to his inexpressible anhoyanee and
regret, that Nekimi was among the number of
the captives. A hurried consultation followed,
in which War-Eagle, throwing ofi* the modest
reserve that he had practised daring the cooncti,
assumed his place as leader of the Lenape
braves, of whom he selected forty of the must
active and daring, to accompany him on the dil^
ficuk and dangerous expedition that was t3 be
instantly undertaken for the recovery of Uie
stolen horses.

Reginald and Baptiste eagerly volunteered,
and were instantly accepted by War-Eagle; ImC
it was not without some persuasion on the part
of the Guide, that the chief allowed Monsiettr
Perrotto be of the party; that faithful valet in-
sisted, however, so obstinately apon his right to
attend his master, that, on Baptiste enjoining
that he should implicitly obev orders, he was
permitted to form one of the selected band.

In less than half an hour, from the receipt ot
the above disastrous intelligence, the party ledl
the camp well armed and equipped, each man
carrying three pounds of dried buffalo meat; and
Baptiste secured twice that quantity to his stur-
dy person, thinkii^g it probable that Reginald's
endurance of hunger might not prove propor-
tionate to hi« active qualities. The latter had,
indeed, forgotten the meat altogether, for he
passed the last few n^inutes of his stay within
the camp, in bidding farewell to " Prairie-bird,"
and in assuring her that he would not be long
absent, but trusted soon to return with his fa-
vourite Nekimi. At bis departure, Reginald
left the strictest orders with Bearskin (who re-
mained in charge of his pkrty) to keep a faithful
watch over the safety of Prairie-bird, and to fol-
low the injunctions that he might receive frofoi
Tamenund and Paul Miiller.

The small band who, at the instigation of Ma*
h^ga, had £tolen the Delaware horses, were
chosen warriors, well-mounted, thoroughi/ train-
ed to the predatory warfare in which they were
now engaged, and ready, either to defend their
prize against an equal force, or to baffle thepnr-
snit of a superior one. As War-Eagle had lost ""
many of his best horses, he resolved to follow the
enemy's trail on fbot, but he desired two or
three of his most active and enterprisijQg follow-
ers, whose horses had not been stolen, to hover
on the rear of the retreating party, to watch their
movements, and bring back any intelligence that
might aid him in the pursuit. #

The select band of Delawares moved swiflly
forward under the guidance of their young lead-
er; close upon his steps followed Reginald, bajjHMk
ing with impatience to recover his favou^^V
steed; next to him came Baptiste^ then Per^^^
and the remainder of the Lenap4 warriors.

The prairie-grass, trodden down by the hoofs
of the galloping and affrighted steeds driven
from their pasture, afforded a trail that could be
traced without difliculiy, and the trampled banks
of several slow and lazy streams, which they
passed in their course,- marked the headlong
course taken by their fugitive steeds and their
fierce drivers.

We will leave the pursuers for a time, aLd
follow the movements of Mah^ga, who was now
acting in concert with the Sioux, and who con-
trived by his superior address to direct their
plans, as completely as if he had been himself
the chief of their tribe. Having accompnied
the Osage village, fourteen of nfleen miles on
their route to the norihwardi he ordered a halt

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

91

nr tlie side of a stream, in a valley adjacent to
lae encampment of their new allies, the two
bands forming a body so superior in number to
the Delawares, that tney had no cause to fear an
attack, especially- as they learned from their
scouts that War-Eagle and his followers had
tone in an opposite direction in pursuit of the
Eorse-stealing party.

The evening' was dark, and favoured the exe-
cution of a plot which Mah^ga had formed, and
in furtherance of which all his preceding meas-
ures had been taken. As soon as the sun had
set, he selected one hundred of the bravest and
most experienced warriors in his tribe, whom he
armed only with bow and arrows, knife, and
tomahawk ; strictly forbidding the use of any
irearms ; for he well knew that the latter were
far from being effective weapons in the hands
9f his followers, especially in such an expedition
as that in which he wa^ engaged. SwiAly and
Silently they moved under theij^ leader's gui-
lance, who, directing his course towards the
southeast, brought them, after a few hours'
march, to the line of wood skirting the great
Prairie. Aware that the warriors remaining in
the Delaware encampment would be prepared
against any surprise from the quarter in which
the Sioux were posted, his present object was to
make his attack from the opposite side, in order
to effect which, undiscovered, the greatest skill
and rapidity were necessary.

It was on occasions such as these that the
qualities of the Osage chief were most conspic-
Qously exhibited ; with light and noiseless step,
he led his party through the depths of the forest,
and during a swift march of many hours not a
word was spoken; now and then he paused as a
startled deer rustled through the thicket, and once
or twice, when a stray moonbeam, lorcine its
way through the foliage, silvered" the bark oi the
sycamore, he cast his eye upwards, as if to learn
from the leaves the dfrection of the wind, or to
scan the heaven in search of one of ihosp stars,
which the imperfect, but sagacious astronomy of
the Indians teaches them to recognise as guiaes.

Leave we them to pursue their dark and cir-
cuitous path, and let us transport the reader to
the interior of the Delaware encampment, where
(as it may be remembered) Bearskin was left in
command of that portion of the white men who
bad not accompanied their leader in pursuit of
the Sioux.

Paul Miiller sat late at night in the tent of the
Prairle-bird ; on the rude table lay the Bible
from which he had been reading, stna explaining

«ie difficulties that had perplexed her strong.
Inquiring mind ; afterwards they had turned
conversation to the scenes which had occur-
red within the last few days, and which were
calculated to inspire serious anticipations of
coming evil. Prairie-bird made no effort to con-
ceal from her affectionate instructor how entire-
ly her heart was given to Reginald; she knew
ais bold and fearless disposition ; she knew, too,
the wUy cunning of the powerful tribe against
whom his expedition was undertaken, and more
than one heavy sigh escaped her when she
thought of the risks that he must incur.

The good Missionary employed every possible
aigament to allay her fears, but none so effect-
ively as that which referred to the protection of
that Being who had been from childhood her
hope, her trust, and her shield, and, bidding her
^ood night, he had the pleasure of seeing her
lifted spirit resume its usual composure. He

then wrapped his cloak round his shoulders, ana
went out to see what provision Bearskin had
made for the security of the camp, during tha
absence of Reginald, War-Eagle, and their par*
ty. The rough old boatman was smoking his
pipe over the embers of a fire in front of the
lodge where he slept : beside him lay, half-asleep,
the gigantic Mike Smith; and the other white
men were within the lodge, each having his rifle
within reach and his knife and pistols in his bclL
Bearskin returned the greeting of the Mission-
ary with blunt civility, and informed him that
he had been to the lodge of Tamenund, where it
had been agreed to throw forward an outpost ot
a dozen light, active youn^ Indians, half a mile
beyond the camp, in the direction of the Sioux ;
runners had also been sent round to desire the
warriors to be ready, and all the usual precau-
tions taken, such as are observed by Indians ift
the neighbourhood of a dangerous enemy.

Satisfied with these arrangements, Paul Mtil-
ler returned to his tent, and throwing himself oa
the pile of buffhlo skins that formed his bed, was
soon fast asleep. He knew not how long he had
slept, when he was aroused by a cry such as none
who has once heard it can mistake or foiget
Scarcely had that shrill and savage whoop pier-
ced the dull silence of the night, when every crea*
ture within the encampment sprang to their feet*
the braves and warriors, seizing their weapons,
rushed to the quarter whence the cry proceeded,
while the women and children, crowding round
the aged and defenceless men, waited in suspense
the result of the sudden and fierce attack. The
noise and the tumult came from the northern
quarter, that'most remote from the lodges of Tam-
enund and Prairie-bird. Sixty of the chosen
Osage warriors had fallen upon the small outpost
placed to give the alarm, and, driving them easi-
ly before them and killing some, entered the
camp almost simultaneously with tne survivors.
This band was led by that daring young war-
rior before introduced to the reader under the
name of Flying-Arrow, who now burned with de-
sire to render his name in the war-annals of his
tribe famous as that of his kinsman Mah^a.
Nor were the Delaware warriors slow to meet
the invaders, with a courage equal to tl)eir own ;
the conflict was fierce and confused, for the moon
was no longer up, and the pale stars were con-
tending, in a cloudy sky, with the dim erey hue
that precedes the dawn of day, so that tne dusky
figures of the combatants were scarcely visible,
and by their voices alone could they distinguish
friends from foes.

At the first alarm, Bearskin, with hfs habitual
coolness, ordered Mike Smith, with three of nis
men, to retire into the rear, to assist in protecting
the lodge of Tamenund and the tent of Prairie-
bird, while he led the remainder to check the
advance of the Osages from the northward. Fot
some lime the latter seemed to be gaining ground,
but the Dela wares, still superior in number and
hastening to the spot, aided by Bearskin and his
followers, recovered their lost advantage, and
the combat raged with renewed fury.

At this crisis Mah6ga, who had succeeded in
gaining, unperceived, the valley to the south-
ward of the Delaware camp, fell upon their real
with his reserve of forty men j overthrowing all
who opposed him, he forced his way towards the
white tent, which the advancing light of dawn
rendered now easily distinguishable from the
dark-coloured lodges around it ; shouting his bat>
tie-cry with a voice like a trumpet, he rushed

tai

THK PRAIBIE-BIRD.

onward, caring: not, apparently, for the scalps
or trophies, bat determined on secaring toe
prize for which he had already broken his faith,
and imbrned his hands in the blood of allies who
had done him no 'njury. A gallant band of
Delawares surrouuied their aged chief, whose
trembling hand now grasped a tomahawk that
had for twenty years reposed idly in his belt.
Prairie-biid had sprung from her coach, and al-
ready joined in the brief, but earnest prayer,
which Paul Mailer breathed at her side; he
recognised the Osage war-cry, and divining the
chief object of their terrible leader, he whispered
Bolemuly to her,

" My dear child, if I am soon taken from yon,
Keep, nevertheless, your trust in God. I see that
Knife still in your girdle; I know what you have
once dared; if it be the will of Heaven, you
must be prepared patiently to endure pain, sor-
row, connnement, or oppression ; remember, it is
only as the last resource against dishonour, that
you may have recourse to it."

The maiden replied not, but a glance from her
dark eye assured him that he was understood,
and would be obeyed ; many emotions contend-
ed in her bosom, but, for the moment, reverence
and attachment to her affectionate instructor
prevailed over all others, and, dropping on her
Knees before him, she covered his hand with
kisses, saying,

" Dear Father, if we must be separated, bless,
bless your grateful child."

The worthy Missionary, albeit accustomed to
resign himself entirely to the will of Heaven,
could scarcely command himself sufficiently to
utter aloud the blessing that he implored upon
her head ; but iie shouts and cries of the com-
batants were every moment approaching nearer,
and seizing his staff, he went to the aperture in
front of the lodge, in order to ascertain how the
tide of conflict was turning.

The first object that met his view' was the
aged Tamenund, who had &llen in his hurried
endeavour to rush to the combat, but was now
partly supported and partly detained by his wail-
mg wives and daugl^ers, while the tomahawk
that had dropped from his nerveless arm lay
Dpon the ground beside him ; as soon as he saw
Paul Muller, he called him, and said, in a low

voice.

"The breath of Tamenund is going: he has
lived long enough ; the voices of his fathers are
ealling to him from the far hunting-fields; he
will go, and pray the Great Spirit to give the
scalps of these snake-tongued Washashe to the
knife of War-Eagle." After a moment's pause,
the old man continued : " I know that the heart
of the Black Father is good to the Lenap^; he
has been a friend of many days to the lodge of
Tamenund; he must be a father to Olitipa;
she is a sweet-scented flower; the Great Spirit
has given rain and sunshine to nourish its growth,
and its roots are deep in Tamenund's heart ; the
"^ Black Father will not allow it to be trodden un-
der the feet of Mah6ga." While saying these
words he drew from under his blanket a small
cathem bag^ the neck of which was carefully
closed with ligaments of deer-sinew that had
been dipped in wax, or some similarly adhesive
substance. " This," he added, " is the medicine-
bag of Olitipa; the Black Father must keep it
when Tamenund is gone, and, while it is safe,
the steps of the Bad Spirit will not draw near

aer.

The Missionary took the bag, and concealed

it immediately under his vest, b^itr before he had
time to reply to his aged friend, a terriiSc cry'an-
nounced (hat the Osages had succeeded in break-
ing through the Delaware ranks, and a fearful
scene of confusion, plunder, and massacre en-
sued ; Ihe faithful Missionary hastened to the
side of his trembling pupil, resolved to die la
defending her from injury, while the air was rent
bv the shouts of the victors, and the yells and
snrieks of those sufiTering under their relentkss
fury.

Mike Smith and his men plied their weapons
with determined courage and resolution, and
several of the Osages paid with their lives the
forfeit of their daring attack ; still the survivors
pressed forward, bearing back the white men by
force of numbers, and allowing not a moment
for the reloading of the fire-arms. The voice of
Mah^ga rose high above the surrounding din,
and all seemed to shrink from the terrible weap-
on which he wielded as if it had been a iignt
cane or small-sword ; it was a short bludgeon,
headed with a solid ball of iron, from which pro-
truded several sharp iron spikes, already red with
human blood. Mike Smith came boldly forward
to meet him, holding tu his left hand a dischar-
ged horse-pistol, and in his right a heavy cutlass,
with which last he made a furious cut at the ad-
vancing Osage. The wary chief neither receiv-
ed nor parried it, but, springing lightly aside,
seized the same moment for driving his heavy
mace full on the unguarded forehead of his op-
ponent, and the unfortunate \yoodsman dro^pped
like an ox felled at the shambles ; the fierce In-
dian, leaping forward, passed his knife twice
through the prostrate body, and tearing off the
scalp, waved«the bloody trophy over his head.

Disheartened hj the fall of their- brave and
powerful companion, the remaining white men
offered but a feeble resistance, and the Osage
chief rushed onwards to the spot where only
some wounded Delawares and a few devoted
and half-armed youths were gathered around
the aged Tamenund, determined to die at his
side. It is not necessary to pursue the sicken-
ingdetails of the narrative.

The old man received his death-blow with a
composed dignity worthy of his race, and his
faithful followers met their fate with equal hero-
ism, neither expecting nor receiving mercv.

The victory was now complete, and both
the scattered Delawares and the remaining white
men fled for shelter and safety to the nearest
points in the dense line of forest; few, if any.
would have reached it had not the war-pipe or
Mah6ga called his warriors around him. None
dared to disobey the signal, and in a few minutg^
they stood before him in front of the tent witlf^
which the faithful Missionary still cheered and
supported his beloved pupil. The fierce Osage, .
counting over his followers, Tound that fifteen J
were kuled or mortally wounded ; but the loss i
on the part of their opponents was much heavier,
without reckoning upwards of a score of prison-
ers, whose hands and legs were tightly fastened
with bands of withy and elm-bark.

Mah^ga, putting his head into the aperture of '
the tent, ordered Paul Miiller to come forth.

"Resistance is unavailing," whispered the
Missionary to the weeping girl; "it will be
harder with thee if I obey not this cruel man.
Practice now, dear child, the lessons that we
have so often read together, and leave the issue
to Him who has promised never to leave nor
forsake those who trust in him."

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

93

So saying, he kissed her forehead, and gently
'lisengagin^ himself from the hand that still
dung lo his garment, he went fortli from the
lenL and stood before Mah^ga.

That wily chief was well aware that both the
Missionary and his fair pupil had many Warm
friends among his own tnbe ; there was, in fact,
scarcely a family among them that had not ex-
perienced from one or both some act of charity
or kindness ; he had resolved, therefore, to treat
them without severity, and, while he assured
himself of the person of Oiitipa, ta^end her in-
structor to some distant spot, where neither his
advice nor his reproofs were to be feared. With
this deteroiination he addressed him briefly, as
follows :

'* The Black Father will travel with my yonng
men towards the east ; he is no longer wanted
here ; he may seek the lodges of the Lenape
squaws beyond the Great River; he may ad-
vise them to remain where they are. to dig and
ROW com, and not to come near tne huntin^-
nelds of the Washashe. My young men will
travel three days with tiim ; 'they may meet
strangers ; if he is silent, his life is safe ; if he
speaks, their tomahawk drinks bis blood : when
taey have left him, his tongue and his leet are
free. I have spoken.''

Mahega adaed a few words in a lower tone
to the young warrior who was to execute his
orders, and who, with two others, now stood by
his prisoner; there was a lowering frown on the
brow of the chief, and a deep meaning in his
tone, showing plainly that there would be dan-
ger in disobeying the letter of those commands.

Paul Miiller, advancing a few steps, address-
ed the chief in the Delaware tongue, with which
he knew him to be familiar. "M8h6ga is a
great chief, and the Black jPather is weak, and
must obey him ; before he goes he will speak
some woras which the chief must lock up in his
heart. He loves Oiitipa; he wishes to make
her his wife ; it may be, after a season, that she
may look kindly upon him ; bjit she is not like
other maidens: she is under the care of the
Great Spirit Mah6ga is strong, bm her medi-
cine is stronger. She ean hide the moon behind
a cloud, and gather the fire of the sun as the
daughters of the Washashe gather the river-
waters in a vessel ; let th6 chief remember the
Black Father's last words. If Mah6ga protects
Oiitipa and what belongs to her in the tent, it
may be better for him when the Great Spirit is
angry; if he offisrs her harm or^ insult, he will
die like a dog, and wolves will pick his bones."
^ The Missionary delivered this warning with
\2 dignity and solemnity so earnest, that the eye
of the fierce but superstitious savage quailed
before him^ and, nleased to mark the enect of
his words, Paul MuUer turned and left the spot,
muttering, in his own tongue, to himself, " God
will doubtless forgive my endeavour to protect,
through this artifice, a forlorn and friendless
maiden, left in the hands of a man so cruel and
unscrupulous."

In a few minutes the good Missionary had
completed the slight preparation requisite for
his journey, and, accompanied by his Indian
escort, left tne ruined and despoiled village with
a heavy heart.

As soon as Mah^ was somewhat recovered
fron^ the startling effect of Paul Mtiller's parting
address, he made his dispositions for the further
movements of his band with his usual rapidity
aad decision ; he was well aware that las posi-

tion was now one of great peril, that in a short
time War-Eagle and his party would be inform-
ed of all that had passed, and would seek a
bloody revenge ; he knew also that some of the
fugitive Whites or Delawares might speedily
arm a body of the inhabitants of the frontier
against him, and that he would be altogethar
unable to maintain himself in the region that he
now occupied.

Under these circumstances he made up his
own mind as to the course that he wpuld pur-
sue; and having first given all the necessary
orders for the burial of the Osage dead and the
care of the wounded, as well as for the security
of the prisoners, he called together the heads of
his party, and, having laid before them his plans,
asked (heir advice, with a tone and manner
probably resembling that with which, a few
years later, Napoleon was in the*habit of asking
the counsel of his generals and captains : a tone
indicating that his course beine already deter-
mined, nothing was exoected oi them but com*
pliance.

CHAPTER XXVI.

War-Esgl6 and R«gfaiald, with thdr Party, poniM the

Dahcotahi. '

Wb left Reginald, and War-Eagle's party, io
pursuit of the marauding band of Sioux horse-
stealers. They continued their toilsome march
with unabated speed until nightfall, when the
trail was no longer distinguishable: they then
halted, and while they ate a scanty supper, the
mounted Delawares, who had been sent fotwaid,
returned, bringing with them two wearied horses
which had esca^, in the hurried flight, from
their captors.

War-Eag«e, summoning fiaptiste to his side,
questioned the young man closely as to the ap-
pearance and direction of the trail. From theii
answers he learnt that its course was north
ward, but that it bore gradually towards th«
east, especially after a brief halt, which the
Sioux had made for refreshments ; a gleam shot
athwart the dusky features of the young chief
at this intelligence, but he made no observation,
and eontented himself with asking Ihe opinion
of his more experienced companion.

The Guide, taking off his hunting-cap, allowed
the evening breeze to play through the grisly
hairs which were scattered, not too plentifully,
on his weather-beaten forehead, as if his reflec-
tive powers might thence derive refreshment ;
but, apparently, the expedient was not, at least,
on this occasion, rewarded with success, for,
after meditating in silence for a few seconds, h«
shook his head and owned that he saw no clue
to the intentions of the party whom they were
pursuing. The young chief had his eye still
bent upon the ground, seemingly employed io
observing a large rent, which the day's march
had made in his mocassin; but the woods-
man read in the htka of his intelligent oounte
nance that the mind was busily engaged in foil '
lowing a connected train of thought.

After allowing a few minutes to pass in si*
lence, the Guide, addressing bis companion,
said, *' Can War-Eagle see the Dahootah patht
It is hid from the eyes of Grand-HAche."

" The night is dark, and the eyes cannot see
the trail ; but the wolf finds his way to the

at

THB PBAIRIS-BIRD.

wounded bison, ftnd th^ blue dove keeps her
course to her nest in the mountain. The Great
Spirit has not made the Lenape warrior more
ignorant than the bird, or the brute ; War-£agle
knows the path of the Bahcotah dogs." He
then bent down towards the ear of Baptiste, and
whispered to him long and earnestly in the Dela-
ware tongue.

*' Capote-blue ! but the boy is right/' acclaim-
ed the Guide, in his own mixed dialect ; " the
dogs have only taken this northern start to mis-
lead us ; they are not making for the Missouri
river, but intend to double back and join their
Tillage, now lying to the eastward of us. The
boy is right ; my brain must be getting as worn-
eut as my hunting shirt, or I should have under-
stood their drift. I see bis plan is to lie in cash*
^r them on their return. Well, if he can make
lure of bis game, I will say that he's fit to be a
war-chief, for these 6ioux have a long start, and
the village must be many miles to the right."

As he made these reflections half aloud, Regi-
nald caught their general bearing ; and though
he bad great confidence in the sagacity of his
Indian friends, still he felt a chill of disappoint-
ment at the idea that the pursuit was to be
abandoned, for what appeared to him the hope-
less chance of intercepting a small band of
Sioux of whose course they were ignorant, in a
boundless extent of prairie like that around him.
He had, bowever, good sense enough to conceal
all traces of his disappointment, knowing that
on such an expedition there can be but one
leader, and that, without unanimity and disci-
pline, failure must ensue.

War-£agle now called one of the young
Lenape warriors to his side, and gave him brief
instructions to the efiTect, that he was to choose
three others of the best runners of the party,
and accompanied by the mounted Indians, to
start with the earliest dawn on the Dahcotah
trail, which they were to follow as close as pos-
sible without discovering themselves. He then
desired Reginald and Baptiste to divide the
band into watches, and to sleep alternately, but
not to move until he returned.

Having given these few directions, without
s&owing himself either food or rest after a march
of so many hours, he drew his belt tighter
around his loins, and started on his solitary ex-
eursion. Reginald watched the retreating figure
>f his friend until it was lost in the deepening
lloom, and turning to the Guide he said,

** Baptiste, I cannot but envy War-Eagle the
lossession of sinews that seem unconscious of
litigue, and eyes that require no slumber ! We
fiave marched from daylight until this late hour
without either rest or refreshment, and I confess
I am very glad of this seat on my bufiTalo-robe,
tnd this slice of dried venison, with a draught
)f water ; War-Eagle, however, walks off into the
nrairie, as if he had just started fresh from re-
pose, and Heaven only knows where, or for
irnat purpose he is going." ^

"Master Regina\d,*i replied the Guide, throw-
ing himself lazily down by the side of his young
leader; "I wiU not deny that War-Eagle's
sinews are strung like the bow of a Pawnee,
Ibr I have been on a trail with him before, and

* An ezpnMAon used by th« Canadiaa bnnten for an

'luh; Ui^ *' cache'* is alao fomillar to all readera of

jnfigai stoiy, as the place of dcpoelt for peltiieS|Or itoraa.

few could follow it so lOng or so true ; but tliera
has been a time," he added, casting his eyes
down on his worn and soiled leggins, **wheB
these limbs of mine would have kept me for •
week at the heels of the fleetest Dahcotah thai
ever crossed the country of the Stone-eaters.*
Those days are gone, but when the game*s afoot,
perhaps there may be younger men who might
give out before old Baptiste, yet."

As he spoke the eye of the Guide rested witU
a comic grin on Monsieur Perrot, who, with %
countenance somewhat rueful, was endeavour-
ing to masticate"^ crude pomme de prairiet that
one of the Delawares had given to him, with
the assurance that It was " very good !*'

"1 believe you, Baptiste," said Reginald,
humouring the old hunter's pardonable vanity ;
*^ I believe you, indeed, and if the Sioux oflTer us
a long chase, as appears likely, the crack of your
rifle will be heard before the foremost of our
party has come to close quarters with them;
but you have not answered my question rela-
tive to War-Eagle's excursion during this dark
night."

** He is gone," replied the Guide, " to examine
the ground carefully, perhaps even to approach
the northern border of the Dahcotah encamp-
ment ; he will then judge of the route by which
these horse-stealing vagabonds are likely to re-
turn, and will choose a place for us to conceal
ourselves'for an attack."

*' I understand it all, Baptiste ; it seems to be
a bold, well devised plan, if '^Yar-Eagle is only
correct in his guess at their intentions ; mean*
while let us post our sentries, and get what
sleep we can, for to-moirow may be a busy day."

They accordingly divided their party into
watches, Baptiste and Perrot with one Indian
taking the first, and Reginald undertaking the
charge of the second. The night was gloomy,
and few stars were visible through the thick
clouds by which the heavens were overspread ;
the men were partially sheltered by some stunt-
ed alder-bushes which grew by the side of the
stream, with whose waters they had cooled their
thirst, and those who were not destined to the
first watch soon fell asleep, lulled by the distant
howling of a hungry pack of prairie wolves.

Towards the close of Reginald's watch, aboat
an hour before daybreak, a dusky figure glided
with noiseless step towards the encampment ;
the young man cocked his rifle, in order to ba
prepared against surprise, but in the next mo>
ment recognized the commanding form of hia
friend, and hailed him by name. ^

" Netis !" replied the chief, sitting down be*
side him, and wringing the water from his leg-
gins, which had been saturated partly by the
heavy dew on the long grass through which he
had made his way, and partly by the streams
which he had been obliged to ford.

* The country of the Stone-eateix, or, as they are called
In their own language, the Assinebolna. This is a branch
of the Great Sioux tribe to the porthward of the Missouri
river ; the region la pecuUartjr wild and broken, and tte
Indians inhabiting it ore fanuws for tlieir pedestrian •»-
tivity and endurance.

t Pommes de ]iniiiie are small roots, somewhat remm
bling white radishes, that are found in great abundance in
the western Wilderness, being in some plaees the only
esculent vegetable within a range of several hundred *
miles ; when eaten raw they are tough, tastelass, and hard
of digestion, but if boiled or stewed, are tolerably paltr
taUe and tfMmona, •

THB PRAIRIE*BIRD.

»

'<Has my brother iband a pathT* iaquhred
Reginald in a whisper ; " haa he been near the
Dahcotah Tillage 1"

"* He has," replied the ehief; '*he has seen
tbeirJodges."

" Can my brother find the path by which the
korse-stealers will retnm V*

** He can guess, he cannot be snre," replied
the young Indian, modestly.

Here the conversation closed, and in a few
Bnnutes the little party were aronsed and a-foot,
their leader being resolved that not a moment
ihonld be lost, as soon as there was sufficient
light for pursuing the trail.

When on the point of starting, Baptists, \ta-
fcifig War-Eagie aside, whispered in his ear a
few words, on which the latter appeared to re-
fect seriously and somewhat in doubt; he
aodded his head, however, and replied, " Well,
it is good."

The Ghiide informed Reginald that at his
swn request he was to accompany the party en
tfae trail.

"You see. Master Reginald," he, continued,
" I am a trae-scented old houndt and if these
young ones run too fast, I may perhaps help 'em
It a pinch ; then if we catch the scoundrels
yon will be in their front and we in their rear,
and they will be as bad off as a Kentucky coon
between two of old Dan Boone's cur-dogs. Re-
member ^the signals," he added impressively,
touching the bugle slung across his shoulder.
" We have not practised them of late, but I
have forgot none of them ; they may do us a
food torn here ; stick close to War-Eagle, you
are sworn brothers, and, according to Indian
fashion, if he fklls you must.die with him or re-
venge him."

** That will I, honest Baptiste," replied our
hero; *'the Lenape shall not say that their
ohief was deserted by his adopted brother, neith-
er will I forget the signals — ^farewell !"

Here the two parties separated, that of Bap-
tiste resuming their pursuit of the trail, and
that of War-Eagle following in silence the rap-
id strides of their young chief across the prairie
to the eastward. He marched for several hours
in silence — ^his brow wore an expression of
thoughtfulness, and he stopped several times as
if to scan the bearing and the distance of eve-
ry remarkable elevation or object in the undu-
lating prairie which they were crossing. It was
now about midday ; they had walked since day-
break without halt or food ; the rays of the sun
were fiercely hot, and it required all the deter-
jained energy of Reginald's character, to ena-
Ue him to endure in silence the heat and thirst
by which he was oppressed ; as for Monsieur
Perrot, he had contrived to secrete a small flask
of brandy about his person, more than one
Bouthfol of which, mingled with the muddy
water of the pools which they passed had hith-
erto enabled him to keep pace with tike rest of
die party, but he was now beginning to lag be-
hind, and some of the Indians were obliged to
urge and assist him forward.

At this juncture War-Eagle suddenly stop-
ped, and uttering a sound like a k)w hiss,
orouched upon the ground, an attitude into
which the whole party sunk in a moment. Lay-
fasg a finger lightly on Reginald's arm, he point-
ed to the upper range of a distant hill, saying,

" There are men !" Oar hero, shadjig his eyes
with his hand, looked in the direction indicated,
but after a careful survey, he could see nothing
but the faint green reposing in the sunny haze
of noon ; he shook his head ; but War-Eagle
replied with a quiet smile,

'* My brother saw the rifles behind the log
near the Muskingum ; his eyes are very true,
but tbey have not looked much at the prairie ;
let him use his medicine glass- pipe."

When Reginald had adjusted his telescope,
he looked again to the spot on which the bright
clear eye of War-Eagle was still rivetted like
the gaze of a Highland deer hound, who has
caught sight of a hart browsing on the further
side of some wide and rocky glen.

" By heaven, it is true !" he exclaimed. " I
see them, one, two, three, mounted Indians;
they are at speed — and buflfalo are galloping be-
fore them." •

" That is good," said War-Eagle ; " keep tlye
glass-pipe before them, and say if they go out o(
sight, or if more appear."

Reginald did so : and after a few minutes, re-
ported that they had disappeared over a neigh-
bouring height, and that no others had come in
view.

Upon this, War-Eagle rose, saying, ''My
brother shall drink and rest — ^there are shade
and water not far." As he had said, half an
hour's march brought them to a clump of stunt-
ed alders, beside which flowed a stream, the
waters of which were tolerably fresh and cool.
Here they ate some dried buffalo meat, and sat-
isfied their thirst, after which they followed
with renewed spirits their gay leader, whose
iron and sinewy frame seemed (like that of An-
taeus of old) to gather fresh strength every
time that his foot fell upon the earth. The
prairie through which they now passed was ex-
tremely hiUy and broken, intersected by many
steep and narrow ravines ; threading his way
amongst these, the chief frequently stopped to
examine the footmarks which had been left by
bison, or other animals, and often bent his
searching glance along the sides of the hills
around him. The only living creatures seen
durinff the whole march were a few bulls, lazily
cropping the prairie grass, as if conscious that
their tough carcase, and burnt, soiled hides,
rendered them at this season worthless to the
hunters, who had driven from them the cows
and the younger bulls of the herd. , Emerging
from these defiles, the party came to a broader
valley, the sides of which were very steep;
along the bottom ran a stream of considerabla
magnitude, on the banks of which was a large
tract of copsewood, consisting apparently of al-
der, poplar, and birch, and affording ample space
for concealing a body of several hundred men.

Towards this wood, War-Eagle led the way ;
and when he reached a few bushes distant from
it some hundred yards, he desired the rest ol
the p^rty lie still, while he went forward alone
to explore. During his absence, Reginald occa
pied himself with examining through his glass
the sides of the valley, but cpuld see neithei
man nor any other living creature ; and wher
War-Eagle returned and conducted them into
the wood, Reginald could read on his friend's
countenance that he was in high spirits at bav
ing reached this point undiscoTered.

i

i •

06

THE PRAIfilE-BIRD.

When they came to the centre of the wood-
land, they found a broad trail, near which they
were carefully posted by the chief, in such a
manner that, themselves unseen, they could
command a view of any one passing along it.

The party led by Baptiste was not less suc-
cessful In carrying out the instructions given to
them by War-Eagle. After a rapid and toil-
some march of many hours upon the Dahcotah
trail, they came at length in sight of their ene-
mies ; although at a distance of many miles,
the prudence and caution of the experienced
scout controlled the impetuous ardour of the
young Dela wares, who were burning to revenge
the insult offered to their tribe. But Baptiste
was aware that to attack with his present force
would be hopeless, and he bent ail his energies
to creep as near to the Sioux as possible, so
that he might be ready to dash in upon their
rear, in case he shouM find that the ambuscade
of War-Eagle was successfully laid; at the
same time, the hardy woodsman was determin-
ed not to allow them, under any circumstances,
to gain the village without making by day or by
night one bold effort for recovery of the horses.

A habit of self-control was ^ne of the distin-
guishing features of the Guide's character ; and
although his hatred of the Sioux was fierce and
intense, as we have seen in the earlier part of
this tale, he now conducted his operations with
a cool deliberation that might almost have been
mistaken for indifference; selecting the most
intelligent warrior among the Lenape, he sent
him forward to creep on the trail ; he himself
followed at a short distance; then the other
runners at short intervals, and the mounted In-
dians were desired to keep entirely out of sight
in the rear. In this order they continued the
pursuit ; and by the skilful selection of ground,
and taking advantage of every trifling hill or
ravine over which they passed, he contrived at
length to approach as near as he deemed it pru-
dent to venture until he should see the result of
the stratagem devised by War-Eagle

CHAPTER XXVII

A deserted village in the West.— Mahega carries off
Praliie-bird, and endeavours to baffle ptusult.'

We must now shift the scene to the spot
where the Delaware village had been encamped.
What a change had a few days produced ! The
lodges of the chiefs, with . their triangular poles
bearing their shields and trophies ; the white
tent of Prairie-bird, the busy crowds of women
and children ; the troops of horses, the songs
and Ranees of the warriors — all were gone ! and
in their stead nothing was to be seen but a flock
of buzzards, gorging themselves on a meat too
revolting to be described, and a pack of wolves
snarting and quarrelling over the remains of the
unfortunate Lenape victims.

On the very spot where the tent of Olitipa had
been pitched, and where the marks of the tent
poles were still easily recognised, stood a fiolita-
ly Indian, in an attitude of deep musing ; his
OHiamented hunting shirt and leggins, proclaim-
ed his chieftain rank; the rifle on which he
leaned was of the newest and best workman-
ship, and his whole appearance was singularly
strUdng ; but the countenance was that which
would have rivetted the attention of a spectator,

had any been there to look upon it, for it blend*
ed in its gentle, yet proud lineaments, a deli-
cate beauty almost feminine, with a high heroio
sternness, that one could scarcely have thought
it possible to find in a youth only just emerging^
from boyhood : there was too a deep silent ex-
pression of grief, rendered yet more touching by
the fortitude with which it was controlled and
repressed. Drear and desolate as was the scena
around, the desolation of that young heart waa
yet greater ; father, brother, friend ! the beloved
sister, the affectionate instructor ; worst of all,
the tribe, the ancient people of whose cbie^
he was the youngest and last surviving scion,
all swept away at ** one full swoop !" And yet
no tear fell from his eyes, no mi^mur escaped
his lip, and ■ the energies of that heroic, though
youthful spirit, rose above the tempest, whose
fearful ravages he now contemplated with stem
and gloomy resolution.

In this sketch the reader will recognize Win-
genund, who had been absent, as was mention-
ed in a former chapter, on a course of watching
and fasting, preparatory to his being enrolled
among the band of warriors, according to the
usages of his nation. Had he been in the camp
when the attack of the Osages was made, there
is little doubt that his last drop of blood would
have there been shed before the lodge of Tame-
nund, but he had retired to a distance, whence
the war ciy and the tumult of the fight never
reached his ear, and had concluded his self-de-
nyuig probation with a dream of happy omen ;
a di eam that promised future glory, dear to ev-
ery ambitious Indian spirit, and in which the tri?
umphs of war were wildly and confusedly blend-
ed with the sisterly tones of Olitipa's voice, and
the sweet smile of the Lily of Mooshanne.

Inispired by his vision, the ardent boy return-
ed in high hopes and spirits towards the en-
campment, but when he gained the summit oi
a hill which overlooked it, a single glaUce suf-
ficed to show him the destruction that had been
wrought during his absence ; he savif that the
lodges were overthrown, the horses driven ofl^
and that the inhabitants of the moving village
were either dispersed or destroyed. B^ted to
the spot, he looked on the scene in speechless
horror^ when all at once his attention was caught '
by a body of men moving over a distant height
in the western horizon, their figures being ren-
dered visible by the deep red background a^
forded by the setting sun : swift as thought the
youth darted off in pursuit.

After the shades of night had fallen, the re-
treating party halted, posted their sentries, lit .
their camp-fires, and knowing that nothing was
to be feared from an enemy so lately and so to-
tally overthrown, they cooked their meat and
their maize, and smoked their pipes, with the
lazy indifference habitual to Indian warriors
when the excitement of the chase or the fight
has subsided. In the centre of the camp rose a
white tent, and be9ide it a kind of temporary '
arbour had been hastily constructed from reeds
and alderboughs; beneath the latter reclined
the gigantic form of Mah^ga, stretched at his
len^ and puffing ojit volumes of kimukenik*

* A mixture used for nooUng liy the Indians of the Biia*
sonri ; it la uaualiy oompoied of tobacco dried sumach
leaf, and the inner bark of tlie white willow, cut smal*
and mixed la nearly equal propoitkna

TlTErftAIBlfc^^IftD.

Wf

ivmire, with the seltatttfofitd emiipfoeeiicy of

Within the tent sat Prairie-bird, tier eyes
meeidy raised to heafen, her hands eroesed up-
AA her bosom, and a sraaR basket of corn-cakes
being placed, atitasted, upon the groond beside
aer ; at a little distance, in the corner of the
te«t, sate her female Indian attendant, whom
Halloa had permitted, with a delicacy and con-
sideration scarcely to be expected fVom him, to
ihare her mistress's captirity. He had also
given orders that all the tighter articles belong-
ing to her toilet, and to the fumicoreof her tent,
stould be conveyed with the latter, so that as
yet both her privacy and her comfort had been
fibthfoUy secnred.

Guided by the fires, Wingenond, who had fol-
k^wed with unabated speedy had no difficulty in
Andinf the Osage encampment ; neither was
bis intelligent mind at a loss to apprehend what
' bad occurred ; he had long known the views
and plans entertained by Mah^ga respecting
Prairie-bird, and when, fVom a distant eminence
he caught a sight of her white tent pitched in
ibe centre of a retreating Indian band, he un-
ientood in a moment her present situation, and
the disastrous events that had preceded it ; al-
though he believed that both War-Eagle and
Iteginatd must have fallen ere his sister had
be^ made a captive, he resolved at all hazards
to communicate with her, and either to rescue
faer or die in the attempt.

Having been so long encamped with the Osa«<
|es, he was tolerably well versed in their lan-
guage, and he also knew so well ibe general
disposition of their outposts that he had no
ionbt of being able to steal into their camp.
As sooQ as he had gained, undiscovered, the
theher of a dunnp of alders, only a few bowshots
distant from the nearest fire, he stripped off and
eoncealed his hunting shirt, cap, leggins, and
other accoutrements, retaining only his belt, in
which he hid a small pocket-pistol, lately given
to htm by Reginald, and his scalp-knife, sheath-
ed in a case of bison-hide. Thus lightly arm-
ed, he threw himself upon the grass, and com-
menced creeping like a serpent towards the
Osage encampment.

Unlike the sentries of civilized armies, those
of the North American Indians frequently sit at
their appointed station, and trust to their extra-
ordinary quickness of sight and hearing to guard
tketn against surprise. Ere he had crept many
yards, Wingenund found himself near an Indian,
seated with his back against the decayed stump
of a tree, and whiling away his watch by hui]n-
ming a low and melancholy Osage air ; fortu-
nately, the night was dark, and the heavy dew
bad so softesfed the grass, that the boy*s pliant
and elastic form wound its onward way without
the slightest noise being made to alarm the lazy
sentinel. Having passed this outpost in safety,
he continued his snaky progress, occasionally
raismg his head to glance his quick eye around
and observe the nature of the obstacles that he
bad yet to encounter ; these were less than he
expected, and be contrived at length to trail
himself to ttie back of Olitipa's tent, where be
ensconced himself unperceived under cover of
a large buflalo skin, which was loosely thrown
'>ver her saddle to protect it from the weather.
His first object Was to scoop out a few inches
G

of (he turf below the edge of the tent, In oidet
that he might conveniently hear or be heard bf
her without raising hia voice above the Icweat
whisper.

After listening attentively for a few minutet,
a gentle and regular breatliing informed him
that one sleeper was within ; but Wingenund.
whose sharp eyes had already observed that
there were two saddles under the bufl^o robe
which covered him, conjectured that her attend
ant was now her companion in captivity, and
that the grief and anxiety of Olitipa had proba*
Uy banished slumber from her eyes. To re-
solve these doubts, and to eflfect the purpose ot
his dangerous attempt, he now applied hia
month to the small openinjf that he had made
at the back of the tent, and gave a low and al-
most inaudible sound from his lips like the chirp-
ing of a cricket. Low as it was, the sound es-
caped not the quick ear of Olitipa, who turned
and listened more intently, — again it was re-
peated, and the maiden felt a sudden tremour
of anxiety pervade her whole frame, as from an
instinctive consciousness that the sound was a
signal intended for her ear.

Immediately In Uront of the lodge were stretch-
ed the bulkv forms of two half slumbering Osa*
ges. She knew that the dreaded Mah^ga was
only a few paces distant, and that if some friend
were indeed near, the least indiscretion on her
part might draw down upon him certain de-
struction '. but she was courageous by nature^
and habit had given her presence of mind. Be-
ing aware that few, if any, of her captors spoke
the En^ish tongue, she said, in a low, but dis-
tinct voice, " If a friend iu near, let me hear the
signal again !'*

Immediately the cricket-chirrup was repeat-
ed. Convinced now beyond a doubt that friend-
ly succour was nigh, the maiden's heart throb-
bed with hope, fear, and many contending eino-
tions, but she lost not her self-possession ; and
having now ascertained the spot wheace the
sound proceeded, she moved the skins which
formed her couch to that part of the tent, and
was thus enabled to rest her head within a few
inches of the opening made by Wingenund be*
low the canvass.

" Prairie-bird,'* whispered a soft voice dose
to her ear, a voice that she had a thousand
times taught to pronounce her name, and every
accent of which was familiar to her ear.

" My brother !** was the low-breathed reply.

" If the Washashe do not hear, let my sister
tell all, in few words."

As Prairie-bird briefly described the events
above-narrated, Wingenund found some com-
fort in the reflection that War-Eagle, Reginald,
and their band had escaped the destruction
which had overwhelmed the Lenapd village:
when she concluded, he replied,

**It is enough, let ray sister hope; let her
speak fair words to Mah^ga — ^Wingenund will
find his brothers, they will follow the trail, my
sister must not be afraid ; many days and nights
may pass, but the Lenape will be near her, and
Netis will be with them. Wingenund niiist
go."

How fein was Prairie-bird to ask him a thou-
sand questions, to give him a thousand cautions^
and to send as many messages by him to hef
lover ; bat, traiaed iit' the severe school oC i»<

THB PRAIRipi^BIBD.

dian diseipline, she knew that every .word spo-
ken or whispered increased the danger already
hicnrred by Wingenund, and in obedience to his
hint she contented herself with silently invoking
tbf) blessing of Heaven on the promised attempt
to be made by himself and his beloved coadju-
tors for h(}r rescue.

That pale-faced maiden speaks to herself
Bif through the night/* said one of the Osage
warriors to his comrade stretched beside him
before the tent.

*' I heard a sort of murmuring sound/* replied
the other ; " but I shut my ears. Mah^ga says
that her w>{ds are like the voices of spirits ; it
is not good to listen ! Before this moon is
older I will ask her to curse P&ketshu, that
Pawnee wolf who killed my two brothers near
the Nebraske."*

Profiting bv this brief dialogue, Wingenund
crept from under the buffalo skin, and looking
carefully around to see whether any new change
had taken place since his concealment, he found
tlmt several of the Osage warriors, who had
been probably eating togeUier, were now stretch-
ed around the tent, and it was hopeless to at-
tempt passing so many cunning and vigilant foes
undiscovered. While he was meditating on
the best course to be pursued, his attention was
called to a noise immediately in front of the
tent, which was caused by the horse ridden by
Olitipa having broken from its tether and entan-
gled its legs in the halter. Springing on his
feet, Wingenund seized the leather thong, using
at the same time the expressions common
among the Osages for quieting a fractious horse.

" What is it V* exclaimed at once several of
the Osage warriors, half raising themselves from
their recumbent posture.

" Nothing," replied Wingenund, in their own
tongue ; " the pale-faced squaw's horse has got
loose.**

So saying he stooped leisurely down, and fas-
tened the laryette again to the iron pin, from
which it had been detached. Having secured
the horse, he stood up again, and stepped coolly
over several of the Osages stretched around the
tent ; and they, naturally mistaking him for one
of their own party, composed themselves again
to sleep. Thus be passed through the encamp-
ment, when he again threw himself upon the
ground, and again succeeded in eluding the vi-
gilance of the outposts, and in reaching safely
the covert where he had leil his rifle and his
accoutrements.

The active spirit of Wingenund was not yet
wearied of exertion. Seeing that the course
taken by the Osages was westerly, he went for-
ward in that direction, and having ascended an
devated height commanding a view of the ad-
joining vallcys> he concealed himself with the
intention of watching the enemy's march.

On the following morning the Osages started
at daybreak, and marched until noon, when Ma-
ti6ga halted them, and put in execution the

* Tlie Indians believe that some penona have the pow-
mct li^Juflns, or even oTkiltini othera at a distance of many
kaadrad miles, by channs and spells : this belief in wltch-
erslt is constantly noticed by Tanner and others, who
have resided Uia§ amonf the Indians, and It seems to
kave been especially prevalent among the Oeglbeways
aai other northern tftbes. In Uitistranor of a amilar no-
tior. In the eastern henlnhsi!*, see Burrow's Zhicall, or
tta OvyilM of Spals, VOL i. ehsp» is* on the £vU t^9.

plan that be bad formed for throwing off aii|r

pursuit that might be attempted. He bad
brought lour horses from the Delaware encamp-
ment ; of these he retained two for the use of
Prairie-bird and her attendant, and ordered their
hoofs to be covered with thick wrappers of bisoa
hide ;* he selected also ten of the warriors, oa
whose courage and fidelity he could liest de*
pend ; the remainder of the band he dismissed,
under the conduct of the Flying-arrow, with the
remaining two horses laden with a portion of
the Delaware spoils and trophies, desiring them
to strike off to the northward, and making a
trail as distinct as possible, to return by a cir*
cuitous march to the Osag^ village. These or-
ders were punctually obeyed, and Mabega, hav*
ing seen the larger moiety of his band start on
their appointed route, led off his own small
party in a south-westerly direction, through the
hardest and roughest surface that the prairie
afforded, where he rightly judged that their
trail could with difficulty be followed, even by
the lynx-eyed chief of the Delawares.

From his concealment in the distance, Win-
genund observed the whole manceuvre; and
having carefully noted the very spot where the
two trails separated, he ran back to the desert*
ed Lenape village to carry out the plan that he
had formed for the pursuit. On his way he
gathered a score of pliant willow rods, and these
lay at his feet when he stood in the attitude of
deep meditation, described at the commence-
ment of this chapter. He know that if War-
Eagle and his party returned in safety from
their expedition, their steps would be directed
at once to the spot on which he now stood, and
his first care was to convey to them all the in*
formation necessary for their guidance. This
he was enabled to do by marking with his knife
on slips of elm bark various figures and designsi
which War-Eagle would easily understand. To
describe these at length would be tedious, in a
narrative such as the present ; all readers who
know anything of the history of the North Amer*
ican Indians being aware of their sagacity in
the use of these rude hieroglyphics ; it is suffi-
cient here to state, that Wingenund was able to
eiipress, in a manner intelligible to his kinsmaiH
that he himself marked the elm-bark, that Olit-
ipa was prisoner to Mah6ga, that the Osage
trail was to the west ; that it divided, the broad
trail to the north being the wrong one ; and that
he would hang on the right one and make more
marks for War-Eagle to follow.

Having carefully noted these particulars, he
stuck one of his rods into the ground and fast -
ened to the top of it his roll of elm-bark ; then
giving one more melancholy glance at the des-
olate scene around him, he gathered up hts wil-
low twigs, and throwing himself again upon the
Osage trail, never rested his weary limbs until
the burnt grass, upon a spot where the party
had cooked some bison-meat, assured him that
he was on their track ; then he laid himself
under a neighbouring bush and slept soundly,
trusting to his own sagacity for following the
trail over the boundless prairie before him.

* This method of baflUng pursuit is not unfreinientlj
resorted to Uie by Indian marauders. The reader of Siiak-
sjieare (and who that can read Is noti) will
Lear*»—

'*It wwe • delicaie stratafna to thos
AtnMforhomwIihMtr

THEPRAIEIE-BIRD.

• %

While ikme ermta ward paMmg on the Mi»-
t'^Qii Prairie, Panl Mailer htYtng been eeeorted
to the aettleinenta and tet free by the Ougea,
poraaed his way towards St. Loaia» then the
Budeos of Western trade, and the point wfaenoe
til expeditions, whether of a warlike or oonuDer-
eial natare, were carried on in that region.
He was walking slowly forward, revolTing m his
Bind the melancholy changes that had taken
olace in the course of the last few weeks, the
flestroction of the Lenape band, and the eaptir-
ity of his beloved pupil, when he was overtaken
^ a sturdy and weatherbeaten pedestrian,
whose person and attire seemed to have been
locf hly handled of late, for his leA arm was in
i sling, varioua patches of plaster were on hia
face and forehead, his leggins were torn to rags,
and the barrel of a rifle broken off from the
Mock was slung over his shouhler.

The Missionary, turning round to greet his
fellow-traveller with his accustomed ooartesy,
encountered a countenance, which, notwith-
itanding its condition, he recognized as one
that he had seen in the Delaware village.

" Bearskin, my good friend," said he, hold-
iag out his hand, and grasping heartily the
homy fist of the voyageur, *' I am right glad to
see you, although it seems that you have receiv-
ed some severe hurts ; I feared that you had
falleo among the other victims of that terrible
day."

'* I can*tdeny that the day was rough enoagh,'*
replied Bearskin, looking down upon his wound-
ed arm ; *' and the redskin devils left only one
other of my party beside myself alive ; we con-
tn?ed to beat off those who attacked our quar-
ter, but when we found that Mahega had broken
m opon the rear, and had killed Mike Smith and
his men, we made the best of our way to the
woods, several were shot and scalped, two of
OS escaped ; 1 received, as you see, a few ngly
scratches, but my old carcase is accustomed to
being battered, and a week will set it all to
rights."

" You know," replied the Missionary, " that
I have some skill in curing woulds. When we
reach St. Louis we will take up our lodging in

he same house, and I will do what I can to re-
lie?e your hurts. Moreover, there are many
things on which I wish to speak with you at lei-
sore, and I have friends there who will supply
OS with all that is needful for our comfort."

While they were thus conversing, the tall
8|»res of the cathedral became visible over the
forest, which then grew dense and unbroken to
the very, edge of the town, and in a few minutes
Bearskin, conducted hy the Missionary was
snugly lodged in the dwelling of one of the
wealthiest peltry-dealera in the famous frontier
eityof St. Louis.

CHAPTER XXVni.

Aaambiiieade.— RcgiBsld Bmndon finds hit hone, and
M. Pfeffot naariy 1om« his hMd.-— While Indiaa Phlkw-
ophy Is dteiilayed in cam quafter, Indian efeduliqr li ex-
hibited in andber.

Wi left War-Eagle and his party posted in a
taicket of considerable extent, in the centre of
a valley through which he had calculated that
the marauding band of Sioux would retunp with

the captured hones to their vllhige ; long and
amioosly did he wait in expectation 49f their ap-
pearance ; and both hhnself and Reginald be-
gan to fear that they must have taken some
other roQte, when they saw at a distance an In
dian, galloping down the valley towards them ;
as he drew near, the heed-dress of eag)e*s feath-
ers, the scalpiocks on his leather hunting shhrt»
and the fringes by which his leggins were
adorned, announced him to the practiced eye of
the young Delaware chief, as a Dahcctah brave
of some distinction ; hot what was the aston-
ishment of Reginald, at recognizing in the fiery
steed that bore him, his own lost Nekimi. By
an unconscious movement he threw forward his
rifle over the log which concealed him, and was
preparing to secure a certain aim, when War-
Eagle, touching his arm, whispered, " Netis not
shoot, more Dahcotahs are coming, — noise of
gun not good here, Netis have enongh fight
soon,— -leave this roan to War-Eagle, he give
Netis beck his horse."

Reginald, although disappointed at not being
allowed to take vengeance on the approaching
savage, saw the prudence of his friend's counsel,
and suffering himself to be guided by it, waited
patiently to see how the Delaware proposed to
act. The latter, laying aside his rifle, and arm-
ed only with his scalp-knife and tomahawk,
crept to a thick bush on the edge of the broad
trail passing through the centre of the thicket ;
in his hand he took a worn-out mocassin, which
he threw carelessly npon the track, and then
ensconced himself in a hiding-place which he
had selected for his purpose. The Dahcotah
warrior, who had been sent forward by his chief
to reconnoitre, and to whom Nekimi had been
lent on account of the extraordinary speed
which that animal haa been found to possess,
skckened his speed as he entered the thicket,
and cast his wary eyes to the right and to the
left, glancing occasionally at the sides of the
hills which overhung the valley.

The Delawares were too well concealed to be
seen from the path, and he rode slowly forward
until he came to the spot where lay the moeas-
sin thrown down by War-Eagle.

" Ha !" said the Sioux, uttering a hasty ejacu-
lation, and leaping from his horse to examine
its fashion. As he stooped to pick it up War-
Eagle sprung like a tiger upon him, and with a
single blow of his tomahawk laid the unfortu-
nate warrior dead at his feet Throwing Neki-
mi*s bridle over his arm, he drew the body into
the adjacent thicket, and, having found in the
waistband the small leathern bag in which the
Indians of the Missouri usually carry the difl^er-
ent coloured clays wherewith they paint them-
selves, ho proceeded to transform himself into
a Sioux. Putting on the DahcoUh head-dress
and other apparel, aided by one of the most ex-
perienced of his band, he disguised himself in a
few minutes so eflectually that, unless upon a
very close inspection, he might well be taken
for the Indian whom he had just killed.

As soon as this operation was completed, he
desired Reginald and the rest of the party to
remain concealed, and if he suoceeded in luring
the enemy to the spot, on no account to Are
until thehr main boidy had reached the bush
from which he had sprung oo the Sionx. Hav-
ing giveo this isstmctioo, hf taoited on Nekl-

100

THS FRA1ItIE<;BIRD.

iu*8 bade, and reunved at apeed to the upper

Silt ot theyaliey, from whieh direction lie knew
at the Dahcotaha must be approaching. He
had not ridden inaoy miles ere he saw them
advancing at a ieiaurety rate, partly driving
before them, and partly leading* the horaee
•ftolen from the Delawares. This was an oo-
casion on which War-£agle required aU his
sagacity and presepce of mind, for shoold he
betray bimaelf by a false movement or gesture,
Dot only would the enemy escape the snare laid
for them, but his life would pay the forfeit of
his temerity. Wheeling his horse about, he
returned towards the thicket, and, after riding
• to and fre, as if making a careful inveetigatioB
of its paths and foot-marks, he went bausk to
tlte broad trail, and as soon as the foremost of
the Dabcotahs were within a eonple of hundred
yards, he made the signal '*AU right,*'* and
node gently forward through the wood. So
well did his party observe the orders which he
had given them, that, although he knew the
exact spot where they were posted, and scanned
it with- the most searching glance of his keen
eye, not a vestige of a human figure, nor of a
weapon could he detect, and a smile of triumph
curled his lip as he felt assured of the suc-
cess of his plan. No sooner had he passed the
bush where the Dahcotah had fallen, than he
turned aside into the thicket, and, having fas-
tened Nekimi securely to a tree, tore off his
Sioux disguise, and lesuming his own dress
and rifle, concealed himeelf on the flank of hia
party.

The Dahcotahs, who had, a« they thought,
seen their scout make the sign of *' All right,'*
alter a careful examination of the wood, entered
it without either order or suspicion; neither
did they discover their iftistake until the fore-
most reached the fatal bush, when a volley from
the ambuscade told among them with terrible
effect Several of the Sioux fell at this first
discharge, and the confusion caused by this
nnexpected attack was increased by the panic
among the horses, some of which being fright-
ened, and others wounded, they reared and
plunged with ungovernable fury.

Although taken by surprise, the Dahcotah war-
riors behaved with determined courage ; throw-
ing themselves from their horses, they dashed
into the thicket to dislodge their unseen foes,
and the fight became general, as well as desul-
tory, each man using a log or a tree for his own
defence, and shooting, either with rifle or bow,
at any adversary whom he could see for a me
ment expoeed. The Sioux, though more nu-
merous, were unprovided with efficient fire-
arms ; and sensible of the advantages thence
arising to their opponents, they made desperate,
and not unsuccessful efforts to bring the fight
to close quarters ; Reginald and War-Eagle
were side by side, each endeavouring to outdo

* One of the most eztrsonHiuuy flpedmens of the inge-
nuity, of the tribes who Inhabit the Great Ifiaiouri wU-
deraeae, and who speak many isnguages, so difierent that
they can have with each other no verbal communication,
b the language of Sipis, common to them all, by which
P^waees, Daheolahs, Osages, Blaek-feet, UpsarokM, or
th0 Crows and other Western natioiia, can lUMkuntaad
Doeh other quite suAciently for the ordinary purposes of
their rimple lift. The sign for **al| r^ht" is made by
holdinf the hand with ttie palm downwards, In • heri-
somiU poaA|ifM% aad wavtag it slowly eatwaids.

the other in feats of gaRantry, and at the aanw
lime to watch over the safety of hia friend.

Monsieur Perrot caught the general spirit of
the aflvary, and, as he afterward said of himseM
^iongfat like a famished lion !** when, unluckily^
hie ptatol snapped in the face of a Sioux war*
rior, who struck him a blow that felled him to
the earth. Stepping lightly over the form of
his prostrate foe, the savage, grasping a knife
in his right hand, and seixing the luckless
Frenchman's hair with hia led, was about to
scalp him, when the knife dropped from hit
hand, and he stood for a monsent petrified with
astonishment and horror. The whole head of
hair was in his left hand, and the white man
sat grinning before him with a smooth and
shaven crown.

Letting fall what he believed to be the scalp
of some devil in human shape, the affrighted
Sioux fled from the spot, while Perrot, rep^cing
his wig, muttered half aloud, ** Bravo ! ma bonn§
ptmupu ! jt te dot* ntHU remerfime-ns P*

At this crisis, while the issue of the general
combat was still doubtful, the sound of a bugle
was heard in the distance, and the signal imme-
diately answered by R^inald, who shouted
aloud to War-Eagle, that Grande-Hacbe was at
hand. Inspired by the knowledge of approaeh*
ing reinforoement, the Delawares fought with
renewed confidence, while the Dahcotahs, star-
tled by the strange and unknown bugle callai
were proportionately confused and thrown into
disordter. The panto among them was com-
plete when the sharp crack of Baptiste's riflt
was heard in the rear, and one of their princi-
pal braves fell dead at the root of the tree which
sheltered him from the fire of War-Eagle's party.
Hemmed in between the two hostile bands, the
Sioux now gave up all hope of concealment^
and fought with the eourage of despair ; but
the resistance which they ofifered was neither
effective nor of long duration. Baptiste, wield-
ing bis terrible axe, seemed resolved this day
to wreak his fierce and long-delayed vengeance
on the tribe at whose hands he had sustained
such deadly injury ; and regardless of several
slight wounds which he received in the fray,
continued to deal destruction among all who
came within reach. Nor were Reginald and
War-Eagle less active in the fight ; the struggle
was hand to hand ; the Sioux seeming to ex-
pect no quarter, and being determined to figlrt
while they could wield a knife or tomahawk.

Their chief, a man of stature almost as power-
ful as that of Mah^ga, seemed gifted with a
charmed life, for although he exposed himself
freely to the boldest of his opponents, animating
his men by shouting aloud the terrible war-cry
of the Dahcotahs,* and rushing to their aid
wherever he found them giving way, he was
hitherto unhurt, and bent every effort to destroy
War-Eagle, whom he easily recognised as th«
leader, and most formidable of the Delawares,
An opportunity soon offered itself, as War- Eagle
was engaged with another of the Dahcotahs*
The chief aimed at his unguarded head a Mow
that must have p * *•- a\, had not Reginald
warded it off with - o^..4ad» ; the Indian turned

* It is well known that eveiy tribe has its sepanna
warxiy ; that of the Dahcotah's resembles tbe short Mfry
baric ef a dog, but th^ utter it with a ptereing sbtUlnwi
Itet nnden It tfloifis In Ike MDtmns

• • •

• • <

THS PRAIRIS-BIRQ.

fmmmskf Qpon him, as4 • fierce combat ensied,
wt il was ao4 i)i long riuratio|, for aAer Ihey
Md exclKiAged a few strokes, a successful
tkrast stretched the Daheotah chief upon the
grsiiiid. Ar exttkifif cry buist from the Dela-
wares, and the panic-struok Sioux ^ed in eveiy
direction. The pursuit was conducted with
the merciless eagerness common to Indian war-
ftiie, and aa Reginald felt no tndinalion to join
in it, he returned his cutlass to its sheath, and
hfisied himself in securing all the horses that
came within his reach.

One hy one the Delawares came back to the
place of rendesvous, some bearing with them
the scalps which they had taken, others leading
leeapiured horses, and all in the highest exeite-
ttent of triumph.

Wsr-£agle set free Nekimi, and led it towards
its master. As soon as it was near enough to
hear his voice, Reginald called to the noble
animal, which, shaking its flowing niane» came
boftoding and snorting towards him. He ca-
iessed it for a short time, then vaulted upon its
back, and was delighted to find that its spirit
aad strength had sufiered no diminution since
its capture. Again he dismounted^ and Nekimi
feil<»wed him unled, playing round him like a
Avorile dog. While he thus amused himself
with his recovered steed, Baptiste sat by the
side of a small streamlet, cleaning his axe and
hlB rifle, and listening with a grim smile to Mon-
sieur I'errot's account of the danger from which
he bad been saved hy bis peruke. Id the midst
ef bis narrative seeing some blood on the sleeve
sf bis companion's shirt, he said, " Baptists, you
sresttrely wounded T'

** Yes,*' replied the other ; " one of the red-
skins gave me a smartish stroke with a knife in
that skriaimage— 4iowever, I forgive him, as I
|iaid him A>r it."

" But would it not be better to attend to your
wound first, and to your weapons afterwards 1*'

"Why, no. Monsieur Perrot, that isn't our
fashion in the woods ; I like first to make the
doctor ready for service, and then it will be time
enough to put a little cold water and a bandage
to the cut."

The good-humoured Frenchman insisted upon
his proposal, but had some difficulty in persuad-
ing the rough Guide to let him dress the wound,
which, though deep and painful, was not dan-
gerous.

On the following day War-Eagle returned
with his triumphant party, and with the rescued
horses, towards the Delaware village, every
bosom, save one, beating high with exultation.
Reginald could scarcely control his impatience
to relate to Prairie-bird the events of the suc-
cessful expedition. The young warriors antici-
pated with joy tlie beaming smiles with which
they would be welcomed by the Lenape maidens ;
while those of maturer age looked forward to
the well-merited applause of their chiefs^ and
the fierce excitement of the war-dance with
which their victory would be celebrated. Bap-
tiste had satiated his long-cherished vengeasce
on the tribe which bad destroyed his parents,
and Monsieur Perrot prepared many ji^es and
gibes, which he proposed to inflict upon. Mike
Smith, and those who had not partaken in the
glory which he and his party had gained.

War-Eagle alone shaibd not in the general

• ••

•• ;•• :.W

• • •

joy ! Whetfi^ir wu:^t l» od^ M pi^^cOKT
his thoughts from reverting to Prairie-bird, or
that he was oppressed by a vague and mysterU
ous presentiment of calamity, bis demsanoor
was grave, even to sadness, and the trophies
of victory hung neglected from the fringss of his
dress.

Having taken tbe shortest route, they arrived,
a few hours before nightfall, at a point where a
broad trail led divect to the encampment ; and
War-Eagle, whose penetrating eye bad marked
bis friend's impatience, and who never lost tm
opportunity of proving to him the warmth of hit
attachment, said to him,

** Netis should go forward aad tell Tamenund
and the chiefs that the Lenape war-party are
coming, and that the Daheotah scalps are many.
It wHl be a pleasant tale for tbe ancient chiets,
and it is good that they hear it from the mouth
of the bravest warrior."

This compliment was paid to him aloud, aad
in tbe hearing of the whole band, who signified
their aaprobation by tbe usual quick and repeat-
ed excwmation.*

Reginald replied, "No one is bravest here;
where War- Eagle leads, none but brave men are
worthy to folkiw."

The next minute Nekimi was in fall speed
towards the village; and tbe Delaware band,
with Baptiste and Perrot, moved kisurely for-
ward afler him.

Scarcely two hours had elapsed when a single
horseman was seen riding towards them, in
whom, as he drew near, they had some difficul-
ty in recognising Reginald, lor his dress was
soiled, his countenance haggard and horror-
stricken, while the foaming sides and wide-di-
lated nostril of Nekimi showed that he had been
riding with frantic and furious speed. All mads
way for him, and he spoke to none until he drew
his bridle by the side of War-Eagle, and beck-
oned to him and to Baptiste to come aside. For
a moment he looked at tbe former in silence
with an eye so troubled, that tbe Guide feared
that soms dreadful accident had unsettled bis
young master*8 mind ; but that fear was almost
immediately relieved by Reginald, who, taking
his friend*s hand, said to bim, in a voice almost
inarticulate from suppressed emotion,

*' I bring you, War-£agle, dreadful—dreadful
news."

<• War-Eagle knows that the sun does not
always shine," was the calm reply.

" But this is darkness," said Reginald, shud-
dering ; " black darkness, where there is neither
sun nor moon, not even a star !"

** My brother,'* said the Indian, drawing him-
self proudly to his full height ; " my brother
speaks without thinking. The sun shines still,
and the stars are bright in their place. The
Great Spirit dwells always among them ; a thick
cloud may hide them from our eyes, but my
brother knows they are shining as brightly as

ever.

»»

Tbe young man looked with wonder and awe

•Tblt exelmiillos tmmni A m Utim Biigltoh word*«lldw-
hsw,** rapvntBd with a Mroog aagwrete and mat npid^f
It aeeuM common to all Indian naUons, for Die autiinr has
heanl It used by many dtA>rent tribes, and it It mcntlaaed
by Charlevoix aa being constantly wtiBred by iKe Natchez
IHiM»i% and other Indiaa mnlOoaa, thaa d»alUnf
taakaoflbslliiaisslpfd.

• • •

an:

• ••

• • •

••

.T.HE PRAIAIE-BIRD.

* '•n^MMi the fi)ftv^M>u6tftnaiM0f^thi8 untaught ph'i-
losopher of the wilderness ; and he replied,
** War-Eagle is right. The Great Spirit sees
tSU and whatever he does is good ! But some-
times the cup of misfortune is so full and so
bitter, that man ca& hardly drink it and live.*'

*' Let Netis speak all and conceal nothing.**
said the chief: **what has he seen at the vil-
lage!"

** There w no village ."' said the young man in
an agony of grief. **The lodges are over-
thrown ; Tamenuod, the Black Father, Olitipa,
an are gone ! wolves and vultures are quarrel-
liog over the bones of unburied Lenap^ !**

As Reginald concluded his tragic narrative,
an attentive observer might have seen that the
muscles and nerves in the powerful frame of the
Indian contracted for an instant, hut no change
was visible on his haughty and commanding
brow, as he stood before the bearer of this
dreadful news a living impersonation of the
stern and stoic philosophy of his race.

** War-Eagle,** said Reginald, ** can you ex-
plain this calamity— do you see through it —
DOW has it happened V*

** MahSga,** was the brief and emphatic reply.

« Do you believe that the monster has mur-
dered all, men, women, and children!*' said
Reginald, whose thoughts were fixed on Prairie-
bird, but whose lips refused to pronounce her
name.

"No,** replied the chief; ** not all, the life of
Olitipa is safe, if she becomes the wife of that
wolf; for the others, War-Eagle cannot tell.
The Washashe^ove to take scalps, woman,
child, or warrior, it is all one to them ; it is
enough. War-Eagle must speak to his people.'*

Afler a minute*s interval, the chief according-
ly summoned his faithful band around him, and
in brief but pathetic language infonned them of
the disaster that had befallen their tribe. Re-
ginald could not listen unmoved to the piercing
cries and groans with which the Delawares rent
the air on receiving this intelligence, although
his own heart was racked with anxiety concern-
ing the fate of his beloved Prairie-bird. While
the surrounding warriors thus gave unrestrained
vent to their lamentations, War-Eagle stood

determination, all the eneigtes of his mrtm
were concentiyted in the burning thifti for re-
venge, which expelled, for the time, every othOT
feeling from his breast. The Delaware war-
riors, observant of the stern demeanour of their
leader, followed him in gloomy silence ; and al
though each shuddered as he passed 4he well-
known spot where, only a few days before, an
anxious wife had prepared bis food, and merry
children had prattled round his knee, not a
groan nor a complaint was uttered ; but eveiy
bosom throbbed under the expectation of a ven-
eeance so terrible, that should be remembered
By the Osages to the latest hour of their exis-
tence as a tribe.

War* Eagle moved directly forward to the
place where the lodge of Tamenund and tiM
tent of the Prairie-bird had been pitched. Aa
they approached it Reginald felt his heart faint
within him, and the colour fled from his cheek
and lip.

Baptiste, taking his master's hand, said lo
him, in a tone of voice the habitual roughness
of which was softened by genuine sympathy,
'* Master Reginald, remember where you are ;
the eyes of the LenapS are upon the adopted
brother of their chief; they have lost fathers,
brothers, wives, and children ; see how they
bear their loss, let them not think Netis lesa
brave than themselves."

" Thank you, thank you, honest Baptiste," said
the unhappy young man, wringing the wood-
man's homy hand ; " I will neither disgrace my
own, nor my adopted name; but who among
them can compare his loss with mine ! so young,
so fair, so gentle, my own affianced bride, pledged
to me under the eye of heaven, and now in the
hands of that fierce and merciless villain."

At this moment a cry of exultation bnnit
from the lips of War-Eagle, as his eye fell upon
the wand and slips of bark left by Wingenund.
One by one the chief examined them, and de-
ciphering their meaning with rapid and unner-
ring sagacity, communicated to his friend that
the youth was still alive and free ; that Olitrpa,
though a prisoner, was well, and that a fine trail
was open for them to follow.

•* T^t us start upon it this instant,** cried Re-

like some antique statue of bronze, in an atti- ginald, with the re-awakened impetuosity of his

tnde of haughty repose, his broad chest thrown
forward and his erect front, bearing the impress
of an unconquerable will, bidding defiance alike
to the human weakness that might assail from
within, and the storms of fate that might threat-
en from without. The stern and impressive
silence of his grief produced, ere long, its eflect
upon his followers ; by degress the sounds of
wailing died away, and as the short twilight of
that climate was rapidly merging into darkness,
the chief, taking Reginald's arm, moved forward,
whispering to him in a tone, the deep and gloomy
meaning of which haunted his memory long af-
terwards,

" The spirit of Tamenund calls to War-Ea-
gle and asks * Where is Mahega !' *'

On the following morning War-Eagle rose
an hour before daybreak, and lead his party to
the spot where the lodges of their kindred had
eo lately stood, and where they had anticipated
a reception of honour and triumph. The chief
aurode forward across the desolate scene, seem-
IDfly iDseasible to its horrors ; IhithhH to his

nature.

" War-Eagle must take much counsel with
himself," replied tne chief, gravely. ♦• The an-
cient men of the Lenap^ are asleep, their bones
are uncovered ; War-Eagle must not forget
them ; but," he added, while a terrible fire shot
from his dark eye, " if the Great Spirit grants
him life, he will bring Netis within reach ojf
Mahega before this young moon's horn becomes
a circle."

Having thus spoken, he resumed his scroti*
ny of the ciphers and figures drawn upon the
bark ; nor did he cease it until lie fully under-
stood their purport ; he then called together his
band, and explained to them his further plana,
which were briefly these : —

He selected ten of the youngest and most
active, who were to accompany him, with Re-
ginald, Baptiste, and Perroc, on the trail cf Ma-
hega ; the remainder of the party, under the
guidance of an experienced brave, were to fol-
low the more numerous body of the Osages, to
hang on their traO, and nevet to leave It whilt

THE PRAIRIBBIRD.

103

there remained a chance or a hope of an ene-
my's scalp. Two of the Delawares were at
ihe same time despatched, one to seek the aid
and sympathy of the Konsas and other friendly,
or neutral tribes, the other to prowl about the
woods in the neighbourhood, to collect any Ai-
fitives who might have escaped, and guide any
party that might be formed, to aid in the medi-
tated pursuit. He also ordered the larger par-
ty to gather the bunes and relics of their kin-
ire^ and to perform the rites of sepulture, ac-
eording to the custom of the tribe.

WhUe the chief was giving these instructions
10 the several parties above designated, Regi-
nald sat musing on the very grass over which
the tent of his beloved had been spread; no
blood had there been spilt ; it had been spared
the desecration of the vulture and the wolf;
her spirit seemed to hover unseen over the
apot ; and shutting his eyes, the lover fancied
he could still hear her sweet voice, attuned to
th 3 simple accompaniment ofher Mexican guitar.
How long this waking dream possessed his
senses he knew not, but he was awakened from
it by War-Eagle, who whispered in his ear,
•* The traH of Mali^a waits for my brother."
Ashamed of his temporary weakness, Reginald
sprung to his feet, and thence upon the back of
Nekimi. The chief having chosen four of the
strongest and best from the recaptured horses,
one fur the use of Perrot, the others for such
emergencies as might occur, left the remainder
with the main body of the Delawares, and, ac-
companied by his small party thoroughly well
armed and equipped, started on the trail in pur-
suit of the Osages.

While these events were passing near the
site of the Lenap4 village, Mah6ga pursued his
westward course with unremitting activity, for
although he felt little apprehension from the
broken and dispirited band of Delawares, he
kn£w that he was entering a region which was
the hunting-ground of the Pawnees, Otoes,
loways, and other tribes, all of whom would
consider him a trespasser, and would be dis-
posed to view his present expedition in the
light of a hostile incursion ; for this reason, al-
though he was amply provided with presents for
such Indians as he might fall in with, from the
plunder of the Delaware lodges, he marched
with the greatest rapidity and caution, and
never relaxed his speed until he had passed
that dangerous region, and had entered upon
the higher, and, comparatively, less frequented
plain, lying between the waters of the Nebras-
ka, or Platte River, and the lower ridges, known
by the name of the Spurs of the Rocky Moun-
tains.

During the whole of this tedious march the
attention paid to the comfort of Olitipa by her
wild and wayward captor was constant and re-
spectful ; secure, as he thought, from pursuit,
he had determined to gain her confidence and
affection, and thus to share in that mysterious
knowledge and power which he believed her to
possess, and which he well knew that force or
harshness would never induce her to impart.
Thus she remained continually attended by her
favourite Lita; when the band halted for re-
freshment, the choicest morsels were set apart
for her use, and the young branches of the wil-
low or poplar were gathered to shelter her from

the sun. Mahega rarely addressed her, but
when he did so it was in language calculated ta
dispel all apprehension of present injury or ia-
sult ; and Prairie-bird, remembering the parting
counsel of the Missionary, replied to the haugh*
ty chief's inquiries with courtesy and gentle*
ness ; although she could not help shuddering
when she remembered his former violence, ani
the dreadful massacre at the Delaware village,
she felt deeply grateful to Heaven for having
softened the tiger's heart towards her, and for
having led him, by means and motives un-
known to herself, to consult her safety and her
comfort. I

On one occasion during the march, Mah^
availed himself of her mysterious acquirements,
in a manner that reflected great credit upon bin
sagacity, at the same time that it increased, in
a tenfold degree, the awe with which she had
inspired him and his adherents. They had
made their usual halt at noon, by the side of a
small stream ; Prairie-bird and her faithful IJta
were sheltered from the burning rays of the
sun by an arbour of alder-branches, which the
Osages had hastily but not inconveniently, con-
structed ; Mahega and his warriors being oc-
cupied in eating the dainty morsels of meat af-
forded by a young buffalo cow killed on the
preceding day, when a large band of Indians
appeared on the brow of a neighbonring hill,
and came down at full speed towards the
Osage encampment. Mahega, without mani-
festing any uneasiness, desired his men to pile
a few of their most valuable packages within
the arbour of Olitipa, and to form themselven
in a semicircle around, for its protection, their
bows and rifles being ready for immediate use.
Having made these dispositions, he waited the
approach of the strangers, quietly cutting bis
buffalo beef and eating it as if secure of their
friendly intentions. Having come within a
hundred yards, they drew in their bridles on a
signal from their leader, who seemed disposed
to take a more deliberate survey of the party.
From their appearance Mahega knew that they
must belong to one of the wild roving tribes
who hunt between the sources of the Platte
and Arkansas rivers, but the name or designa-
tion of their tribe he was at first unable to make
out. Their weapons were bows and anows,
short clubs, and knives ; their dress, a hunting-
shirt of half-dressed skin, a centre-cloth of the
same material, and mocassins on their feet,
leaving the legs entirely bare ; the leader had
long hair, clubbed at the back of his head, and
fastened with sinew-strings round a wooden
pin, to which were attached several stained
feathers, which danced in the wind, and height-
ened the picturesque effect of his costume.

A rapid glance suflSced to show him that the
new comers, although apparently busied about
their meal without distrust, were not only
well armed, but ready for immediate ' service |
nor did his eye fail to note the martial bearing
2Lin3^ gigantic proportions of Mahega, who sat
like a chief expecting the approach of an inferior.

Influenced by these observations, the leader
of the roving band resolved that the first inter-
course at least, should be of a peaceful nature^
prudently reflecting, that as his own numbers
were far superior, the nearer the quarters the
greater nvoald be their advantage. Having ut-

101

FHR FRAllilE'BlBD.

tered a few brief words to his followers, be ad-
Tanced with a friendly gesture towards Mahe-
sa, and the following dialogue took place, in the
ingenious language of signs before referred
to: —

Nakega. — '* What tribe are you !"

Leader, — "ArUca-ri,* What are you, and
whither going 1"

M. — ** Washashe, going to the mountains."

X- — " What seek you there 1"

M. — " Beaver, otter, and grisly bear-skins.**

/»•—'* Good. What is in the green-braoch-
wigwam."

M. — "Great Medicine — let the Aricari be-
ware." To this the chief added the sign usu-
ally employed for their most solemn mysteries.

While this conversation was going on, the
rovers of the wilderness had gradually drawn
nearer, not, however, un perceived by Mah^ga,
who, throwing down a strip of blanket at a dis-
tance of twenty yards from the arbour of Prairie-
bird, explained by a sign {Sufficiently intelligible,
that if the main body of them crossed that line
his party would shoot.

At a signal from their leader they again halt-
ed; and Mahega observed that from time to
time they threw basty glances over the hill
whence they had come, from which he inferred
that more of their tribe were in the immediate
Beighbourhood.

Meanwhile their leader, whose curiosity
urged him to discover what Great Medicine wi^
contained in the arbour, advanced fearlessly
alone within the forbidden precincts, thus placing
his own life at the mercy (ii the Osages.

Ordering his men to keep a strict watch on
the movements of the Aricaras, and to shoot the
first whom they might detect in fitting an arrow
to his bowstring, Mahega now lighted a pipe,
and courteously invited their leader to smoke ;
between every successive whiS" exhaled by the
latter, he cast an inquisitive glance towards the
arbour, but the packages and the leafy branches
baffled his curiosity ; meanwhile the prelimi-
uaries of peace having been thus amicably io-
terchanged, the other Aricaras cast themselves
from their horses, and having given them in
charge to a few of the youngest of the party,
the remainder sat in a semicircle, and gravely
accepted the pipes handed to them by order of
Mahega.

That chief, aware of the mischievous propen-
sities of his new friends, and equally averse to
intimacy or hostility with such dangerous oeighh
hours, bad bethought himself of a scheme by
which he might at once get rid of them by in-
spiring them with superstitious awe, and gratify
himself with a sight of one of those wonders
which the Missionary had referred to in his last
warning respecting the Prairie-bird. It was
not long before the curious Aricara again ex-
INressed his desire to know the Great Medicine
contents of the arbour. To this Mahega replied,

** A woman," adding again the sign of solemn
mystery.

** A woman !" replied the leader, in bis own
f i'i' Ill- I ■■ I ■■ 111 i .1 1 1 i.

* Meam. l*hls tribe Is by descant • branch of die

KBOt Pawnee natioo, to whose longuiu^ tlieir own sUll
an a clone reseiitbliuice ; they are usually known among
western travellers by the name of Riecarees, and the
Arench call them ** Lee RIs;** ihey aie a veiy predatory,
Wild, Mid Udeviali xaee.

tongue» expressing in bis coonieBanee tbe •eorti
and disappointment that he felt

"A woman,'* repeated Mah^, gravely,
"but a Medieine Spirit. We travel to l\»
mountains; she will then go to the land of
spirits."

The Aricar& made here a gestnre of in^mtieat
incredulity, with a sign that, if he could not see
some medicine-feat, he would believe that the
Osage spoke lies.

Mahega, desiring him to sit still, and his own
party to be watchful, now approached the ar-
bour, and, addressing Prairie-bird in the Dela-
ware tongue, explained to her their present situ-
ation, and the dangerous vicinity of a mischiev-
ous, if not a hostile tribe, adding, at the saxne
time,

'* Olitipa must show some wonder to frighten
these bad men."

*' What is it to Olitipa,*' replied the maiden,
coldly, *' whether she is a prisoner to tbe Osage,
or to the Western Tribe 1 perhaps they would
let her go.'*

"Whither?'* answered the chief. *'DoeB
Olitipa think that these prairie wolves would
shelter her fair skin from the sun, observe 8n<l
protect her as Mahega does 1 if she were their
prisoner they would take from her everything
she has, even her Medicine Book, and make her
bring water, and carry burdens, and bear children
to the man who should take Mah^a's scalp.*'

Bad as was her present plight and her future
prospect, the poor girl could not help shudder-
ing at the picture of hopeless drudgery here pre-
sented to her eyes, and she replied,

" What does the Osage Chief wish 1 how
should his prisoner frighten these wild men V*

" Tiie Black Father said that Olitipa could
gather the beams of tbe sun, as our daughter*
collect tbe waters of a stream in a vessel,*' saii
the Chief, in a low tone.

Instantly catching the hint here given by hei
beloved instructor, and believing that nothin|
dune in obedience to his wishes could be in it-
self wrong, she resolved to avail herself of thi»«
opportunity of exciting the superstitious awe of
the savages, and she replied,

" It is good. Let Mahega sit by the atrang*)
men ; Olitipa will come.'*

Hastily winding a party-coloured kerchief in
the form of a turban, around the rich tresses of
her dark bair, and throwing a scarf over her
shoulder, she took her small bag, or reticule, in
her hand, and stepped forth from the arbour.
Such an apparition of youthful bloom, grace, and
beauty, extracted even from the wild leader of
the Aricaras, an exclamation of astonished ad-
miration. Having seated herself upon a finely-
painted bison rube, placed for her by Lita, she
waited gravely until Mah4ga should have pre-
pared the stranger chief for what was to follow.

It was now scarcely an hour aAer noon, and
the sun shone full upon them, with bright and
excessive heat; Mahega, pointing upward, ex-
plained to the Aricara that the Woman-Spirit
would bring some fire down from that distant
orb. He could not give any further informatioo,
being totally ignorant of the nature of the wo*-
der to be wrought, and as anxious to witness il
as the wild chief himself.

" Where will she place it 1*' inquired.

*'In the chief's hand,** replied the

T1HB P&AIRIB-BIRD.

IM*

«hos« inteUifent mM bad longf •Nice, daring 1
hm residence with the Delawmres, beoome
fiunitiai with the language of signs.

The two leaders now explained to their fol-
towers, in their respective tongues, the great
Medicine which they were about to see ; and
the latter, forgetful alike of distmst and precau-
tion, crowded with irresistible curiosity about
the spot, Mahega alone preserving his habitual
self-command, and warning those nearest to
him to be prepared against treachery or surprise.
The only ornament vrorn by the Arieari leader
was a collar, made of dark blue cloth, adorned
with porcupine quills, and girt with the formid-
able claws of the grisly bear. This collar, being
at once a trophy of his prowess, and a proof of
its having been gained among the Rocky Moun-
tain traders, (from whom alone the eloth could
have been procured in that remote region.) was
highly prized both by the owner and his follow-
ers, and was, therefore, as well as from it colour,
selected by Prairie- bird as a fitting object on
which to work her ** medicine wonder." She
desired hisn to take it from hie neck and to place
it on the grass, with bis hands below it, that no
6re might oome near it. When he had complied
with her request, she drew from her bag a bum-
ing-glass, and, carefully adjusting the focus, held
it over the dark blue cloth, in which ere long a
bote was burnt, and the astonished leader^s
hand below was scorched.

It is impossible to depict the wonder and awe
of the attentive savages , they looked first at
her, then at her glass, then at the sun ; then
they re-examined the cloth, and ascertained that
it was indeed burnt through, and that the smell
ef fire still rested on the edge of the aperture.
After this they withdrew several paces from the
spot, the leader inquiring with submissive signs
whether he might replace the collar 1 to which
loquiry the maiden gravely bowing assent, re-
tired again into the arbour. For some time a
profound silence ensued, the Osages being as
much awe-struck as the Aricaras ; even Mabels
himself was not proof against the prevalent feel-
ing of superstitious terror ; and thus, while de-
siring Prairie-bird to terrify others, he had un-
consi^iously furnished her with a mysterious and
powerful check upon himself.

It was not long before the Aricar&s rose to
take leave, — their chief presenting Mahega with
a fine liorse; and receiving in return sundry
ornaments and trinkets, of no real value, but
highly prized from their rarity in that wild and
desolate region. As they withdrew, they cast
many a Airtive glance at the arbour and its
mysterious tenant, seemingly glad when they
found themselves at such a distance as rendered
them safe from her supernatural influence. On
their return to their own people, they related,
with considerable exaggeration, the wonders
which they bad witnessed; and Prairie-bird
was long afterwards spoken of in the tribe by a
luime equally impossible to print, or to pre*
»onnce, but which, if translated into English,
would be, *'Tbe Great-Medicine-Daughter-of-
tbe-burning-Sun !''

After this adventure, Mahega pursued his
vnintemrpted way towards tthe spurs of the
Rocky Mountains; his manner and ht^r'mg
towards Prairie-bird being more deferential
than ever, and the passion that he entertained

for her being cheeked aftd sfwed by the miracu^
lous power that she had displayed ; he stli
nourished strong hopes of being able ultimately
to gain her afiSMHion, but in the nneantime r»*
solved to turn her supernatural skill to goo4
account, by frightening such wild roving Ininds
as they might fall in with, and extorting from
their superstitious feara valuable presents hi
horses and peltry.

Meanwhile, the maiden's observant eye had
marked the eifect upon Mah^ produced by the
buniing-^kns, in spite of his weB-dissemblad
indifference, and she secretly determined that
the chief use that she could inake of such exhi**
bitions as were calculated to excite superstitiooi
awe among Indians, should be to maintain th«
command over Mahega, which she was oon
scioos she now possessed.

During the whole of this long and toilsome
march, the faithful and indefatigable Wingenund
hovered over the trail at such a distance as
never to be perceived by any of the party, and
left at occasional intervals a willow-rod, or •
slip of bark, so marked as to be a sure guide to
an eye less keen and sagacious than that of
War-Eagle. His only food was dried undressed
buffalo meat ; his drink, the stream where the
Osages had slaked their thirst; bis bed, the
barren prairie ; he made no fire to scare away
the prowling wolves, that yelped and howled al
night round his solitary couch, his only proles
tion from their ravenous hunger being a tufl of
damp grass, over which he rubbed some powdet
from bis flask. Twice was he descried and
pursued by roving bands of Indians, but on
both occasions saved himself by his extraordt*
nary fleetness of foot ; and the moment thai
the immediate danger was over, renewed his
weary and difficult task.

Cheered by his deep affection for his sister,
encouraged by the approval which he knew
that his exertions would meet from War^Eagla
and Reginald, and, more than all, stimulated by
the eager desire to distinguish himself as a
Delaware chief on this his first war-path, the
faithful youth hung over the long and circuitoua
trail of his enemies with the patience and uneiu
ring sagacity of a bloodhound — and tbodgh tbm
saw him not. Prairie-bird felt a confident asso*
ranee that her beloved young brother would be
true to hie promise, and would never leave noc
desert her while the pulses of life continued to
beat in bin aflfectionate heart.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Bthelflton vlidts St Louis, where he unexpeetedly meett
an old fteqnafntance, and undertakes a funger Jouniey
tiian he hod eoBtemplaled.

DoBiNo the occurrence of the events relatea
in the preceding chapters, the disputes an#
diflSculties attending the distribution of peltries
among the different fur companies at St. LcHiia
had rather increased than diminished, and Ethelr.
stnn had found himself compelled, however ua*
willingly, again to bid adieu to Lucy, and take
a trip to the Mississippi for the arrangement oi
his guardian's affairs in that quarter ; a consid*
erable portion of the fortune that he inherited
from his iath^ was invested in the same 9m

liH

THR PRAIRIE-BIRIX

cnlatioR, and he •ould not, without incurring
the cl arge of culpable negligence, leave it in
the hands of others at a great distance, many
of whoire interests might perhaps be at variance
with th(«e of Colonel Brandon and himself.

He hf d been only a short time in St. Louis,
when 01 e day on passing the cathedral, he met
two me I, whose appearance attracted his at-
tention. The one was past the meridian of
life, an*! the benevolent thooghtfulness of his
eounte lance accorded well with the sober suit
«f bla'.k that indicated the profession to which
he h. longed; the other was a stout, sqoare-
buiU man, evidently cast in a coarser mould
than his companion, but apparently conversing
with him on terms of friendly familiarity. After
Woking steadily at this second, Ethelston felt
r dnvinced that he was not mistaken in address-
' ag him, " Bearskin, my good friend, how come
rou to be in St. Louis 1 I thought you were
•usy, bear and bufialo hunting with my friend
Reginald, among the Delawares of the Mis-
souri r*

'«Ha! Master Ethelston." replied the sturdy

voyageor, *<I am right glad to see your face

* are. We have been in some trouble of Late,

ud instead of our hunting the bears, the bears

as hunted us.''

^ I see you have been in some trouble/* said
^helston, noticing- for the first time the boat-
nan's scars and bruises; *'but tell me," he
added, hastily catching him by the arm, ** has
an7 evil befallen my friend, my brother Regi-
nald 1"

** No harm that I knows of," replied the other ;
** but I must say that things wern*t what a man
migbt call altogether pleasant, where I left him."

*' What !" exclaimed Ethelston, with an in-
dignation that he made no attempt to conceal,
**you left him in danger or in difficulties, and
ean give no account of him 1 Bearskin, I would
not have believed this of you, unless I had it
tro:ii your own lips !"

*< Master Ethelston," answered the justly of-
lenf^ed voyageur, " a man that goes full swing
down the stream of his own notions, without
heeding oar or helm, is sure to ran athwart a
•nag ; here's my worthy friend here, Paul Mul-
ler, and though he is a preacher. Til hold him
•a honest a man as any in the Territory ; he
ean tell you the whole story from one end to
t'other ; and when he's done so, perhaps you'll
be eorry for what you've said to old Bearskin."

"I am already sorry," replied Ethelston,
moved by the earnest simplicity of the scarred
and weather-beaten boatman. **I am already
•ony that I have done you wrong, but you will
make allowance for my impatience and anxiety
concerning my brother's fatal" (Ethelston al-
ways spoke of Reginald as his brother, for he
had a secret and undefined pleasure in so doing,
aa it implied his union ^ith the sister of his
friend.) Paul Mailer, easily guessing from the
few words that had passed that the person now
addressing Bearskin was the Edward Ethelston
of whom Reginald had so often spoken to him,
said,

'^fiir, you certainly did an injustice to Bears-
akin, in thinking him capable of deserting a
frietid in need ; but the apology yon have offered
ia, I am sure, sufficient to satisfy him. The
%ieUi|{eiice which I have to commonicate res-

pecting Reginald BrandoA and his party la la
some respects exceedingly melancholy ; if yoa
will accompany me to our lodging, which la
just at hand, I will explain it to you in folli
meanwhile, rest satisfied with the assuraiMi
that, to the best of our belief, your friend is aaft
and well in health."

As soon as they had entered the house. Bear*
skin, forgetting the hasty words which had ao
much hurt his feelings, busied himself :n pc»
paring some refreshment for Ethelston, while the
Missionary related to him all that had occurred
since his friend joined the Delaware encamp-
ment He did not even conceal from him tlia
violent passion that the latter had conceived
for Prairie-bird, and the despair with which, on
his return to the village from the Sioux expedl-
tion, he would learn the destruction of her kin*
dred, and her own captivity among the Osages.

*' Indeed, my good sir," said Ethelston, ** I
must freely confess that this portion of your is*
teiligence is the only one that brings with it any
comfort ; the fate of Mike Smith and his com-
panions, and the destruction of the unoffending
Delawares, are disasters deeply to be lamented,
but surely, the fact of the Osage chief having
carried off the Indian maiden whom you call
Prairie-bird, and who seems to have exercised
such a strange fascination over Reginald Bran*
don, can scarcely be regretted : for she will
be more likely to find a congenial mate among
the Red-skins, and a bitter disappointment wiU
be spared to my excellent guardian, Colonel
Brandon."

** I know not, my son," answered the Mis-
sionary mildly ; *' the ways of Providence are
inscrutable, and it does frequently happen, as
yon say, that events which we lament at the
moment, afford afterwards just grounds fur re*
joicing ; nevertheless, I cannot view this mat-
ter exactly as you do, for I have known ths
maiden from her childhood, and she is a more
fitting bride for a christian gentleman, than for
a heathen warrior.'*

** I did, indeed, hear the Colonel, and the oth*
er members of the family at Mooshanne, say,
that the Delaware y^ith who so bravely de-
fended the life of Reginald at the risk of hia
own, had spoken in th^' highest terms of praiao
respecting his sister, thp Prairie-bird, as if she
were a being of a superior race ; but you, my
good father, are above ihe prejudices which
darken the minds of these Indians, and yoa
must therefore know, that whatever may be her
beauty and amiable qualities, she is, after all,
the daughter of a Delaware chief, and as such*
could not be a welcome inmate of my guardian^
house."

" Nay, my son," replied the Missionary, " sho
is but the adopted child o; the venerable Dela*
ware who lately fell in the massacre which I
have related to you ; she was not of his blood
nor of his race ; such qualities and nurture aa
she possesses have been in some measure the
fruit of my own care and toil. Were it not
that you might mistake my language fur that of
boasting, I would say, that although the prai-
rie has been her dwelling, and a Lenap6 tent
her home, she does not in her education faA
far short of your maidens in the settlement^
who have had greater advantages of in.strao

tion.

f»

THE PRAIRIB-BIRD.

107

The conrersation was here interrupted by the
entrance of a negro with refreshment, preceded
by Bearskin, bearing in his hand a bottle of
French brandy, uf which he vaunted, not with-
out reason, the excellent quality and flavour ;
>ut Ethelston continued to converse in an un-
dertone with the Missionary, his countenance
evincing every moment increased eagerness
and interest in the subject of their discourse,
which so absorbed his attention, that he never
noticed the honest boatman*s repeated attempts
to call his attention to the refreshment which
he had prepared. Even Paul Muller was unable
to comprehend this sudden change in his man-
ner, and his vehement desire to know all the
most minute particulars respecting a person of
whom he had spoken a few minutes before in
terms of disparagement, but he attributed it to
the interest which he took in his friend's select-
ed bride, and satisfied his curiosity to the best
of his ability.

When all his many and rapidly uttered
questions were answered, Ethelston rose trom
his seat, and abruptly took his departure, say-
ing, as he left the room, ** Thanks, thanks, my
gwMl friends, you shall see me again ere long/*

** Indeed, I care not much how long it may be
before I see his face again," said Bearskin,
sulkily. *' Here have I been bothering myself
tomakePompey bring up these cakes and fruits,
and I have opened a bottle of Father Antin's
best brandy, and he goes off without tasting
with us, or so much as taking a drop to wash
down the ill words which were in his mouth a
while since !*'

" Nay, my good friend," replied the Mission-
ary, ** be not hasty to censure Master Ethelston,
for he is a true and zealous friend to lieginald
Brandon, and the news from the west seems
to have affected him with much anxiety and
alarm."

•* That's all very well for you learned folk,"
said the unpacified kloatman, *' but we don't do
things after that fashion on the river-side ; and
for all he's the son of an old friend of the Colo-
nel's, when he comes this way again he's like to
hear something of my notion of his manners."

** What sort of character bears he at hornet'*

"Why, to tell the tr 'h, his character's in-
different good ; I never ncard of his bein* rude
or onciviMike before."

"Well, then. Bearskin, if be comes here
again, give him an opportunity for explaining
his sodden departure, before you take or express
any offence at conduct of whiclr you may not
rightly understand the motives— come, my good
friend, clear your brow, and let us partake with
gratitude of the excellent cheer that you have
provided."

Thus saying, the Missionary placed himself
with his companion at table, and the ill-temper
of the latter was dispelled by the first glass of
Father Antin's cogniac.

AHei this interview with Paul Miiller, Ethel-
ston pursued the business which had brought
him to St. Louis with such vigour and energy,
that at the close of a week's negotiation he was
able to inform Colonel Brandon that by sacrific-
ing a small portion of the disputed claim, he had
adjusted the matter upon terms which he trust-
ed his guardian would not consider disadvanta-
geous ; his letter concluded thus :

'* Having now ex|ilained these transacliom^
and informed you in another letter of the mel«
anchtdy fate of Mike Smith and some of hit
companions, I must announce to you my inten
tijn of setting off immediately in search of
Reginald, with the best-appointed force that T
can collect here, for I am seriously apprehenstra
for his safety, surrounded as he is by rovini
tribes of Indians, with some of whom he ane
his party are at open war, while the hand of
Dela wares, upon whose friendship he might
have relied, is almost destroyed. As it may be
a work of some time and difficulty to find Regi
nald in a region of such boundless extent, I
roust entreat you not to feel uneasy on my ao-
cttunt, should my absence be more protracted
than I would wish it to be, for I shall be accon»>
panied hy Bearskin, and other experienced trap*
pers ; and I know that even Lucy would have
no smile for me on my return, if I came back
to Mooshanne, without making every exertion
to extricate her brother from the difficulties in
which these uncollected incidents have involved
him."

By the same post Ethelston wrote also to in
form Lucy of his resolution, and though she felt
extremely vexed and anxious on account of the
lengthened absence which it foretold, still she
did him the justice in her heart to own that he
was acting as she would have wished him to
act.

Not a day passed that he did not consult with
Paul Muller, and also with the most experienced
agents of the fur companies, in order tl.at he
might provide the articles most requisite lor hie
contemplated expedition, and secure the servi*
ces of men thoroughly trained and accustomed
to mountain and prairie life.

In this last respect he was fortunate enough te
engage a man named Pierre, a half-breed from
the Upper Missouri, whose life had been spent
among the most remote trading- posts, where
his skill as a hunter, as well as in interpreting
Indian languages, was held in high estimation.
Bearskin, who was almost recovered from hit
wound, and from his short fit of ill-humour with
Ethelston, agreed to join the party, and the
good Missionary resolved to brave all dangers
and fatigues, in the hope of rejoining, and per-
haps of being instrumental in rescuing, bis be-
loved pupiL

With unwearied Industry and exertior>, Ethet
ston was able, in one week subsequent to the
date of his letter, to leave St. Ijouis in search of
his friend, attended by eight hardy and experi-
enced men, all of whom, excepting the Mi:i&ioii-
ary, were well armed, and furnished with ex-
cellent horses, mules, and every necessary fin
their long and arduous undertaking.

Guided by Bearskin, they reached, without
accident or adventure, the site of the desolate
Lenap^ village, in the Osage country, and there
fell in with one of the young Delawares detach-
ed by War- Eagle to observe what might be
passmgin the neighbourhood : from this }outh
they learnt that War- Eagle and Reginald, with
a small party, had gone westward in pursuit of
Mahegan, and that the larger body of the sur-
viTing Delawares were on the trail of the more
numerous band of the treacherous Osages.

Ethelston wished to go on at once in searoik
of his friend, bat the yoath insieted that ka

108

THB PnAIRIE.BIRD.

aliould first as^at hit band in taking vengeance
on their enemies. Promises and threats proved
equally unavailing, and afler the MisMonary had
exhausted all his eloquence in endeavouring to
promote pe»;e, he was himself compelled to as-
sure Etfaelston that his only chance of finding
the trail of his friend in a spot so intersected
by multitudinous paths, was to accede to the
terms proposed by the Indian ; he concluded
in these words :

^ Doubtless the conduct of these Osages was
blood-thirsty and treacherous. I cannot deny
that they deserve punishment, but I wonM fain
have left them to the chastisement of a higher
power. I know, however, that I cannot change
the notion of retributive justice entertained by
the Indians ; and although I cannot prevent re-
taliation, my presence may soften the severities
try which it is usually accompanied ; at all events
I will not shrink from the attempt, especially
•s it is the only means by which we can pos-
sibly hope to trace those in whose safety we are
80 deeply interested.'' •

Ethelston could not press any further objec-
tion, and his party, under the guidance of the
young Delaware, was soon in rapid motion
Bpon the trail of the larger body of the Osages,
who were, as it may be remembered, already
pursued by a band of Lenape warriors.

Towards the close of the second day's march,
Ethelston and his party met the latter returning
in triumph from a successful pursuit of their
enemies, whom they had overtaken and sur-
prised before they couM reach the main body of
the Osage village. The attack was made by
nigi.t, and the Delawares had taken many scalps
without the loss of a single man ; but their
number was not sufficient to justify their re-
maining in the neighbourhood of a force so much
Bupei tor to their own, so they had retreated to
the southward, and were now on the way to
their former village, where they intended to
perform more at leisure the funeral ceremonies
due to their aged chief, and those who had been
killed with him, and to appease their unquiet
spirits by offering at their graves the trophies
taken during their late expedition. A few of
the most daring and adventurous entreated per-
mission to join Ethelston's band in his search
for War^Eagle, their favourite leader ; nor was
he by any means sorry to grant their request,
justly considering the addition of ten well-arm-
«d Lenape warriors as a most desirable rein-
forcement to his party.

As soon as the selection was made, they
separated at once from the remaining body of
Delawares, and, guided by the youth before
mentioned, threw themselves upon the trail of
Mahega and his pursuers.

CHAPTER XXX.

T^ Onges

eoeamp near th« tan of the Boekj Meaa
tsliu.— Aa unezpeclod victor arriv«f»

Arrvm parting with the Ariear&s, Mah^ga
travelled westward for many days over that
barren and desolate region lying between the
sources of the Platte and Arkansas rivers, with-
out falling in with any other Indians ; his party
WW foided bf a grini and scanred warriorKwbo

had been on several hunting excursions to tn<
Rocky Mountains, in the course of which ha
bad been more than once engaged with tha
Shiennes, Crows, and other tribes, whose names
have of late years become familiar to the gene-
ral reader, but who were then known only to
the few adventurous spirits who had pushed
their way into that wild and dangerous couo-'
try.

Prairie-bird, attended by her faithful Lita, and
mounted on her high-mettled and sure-footed
pony, was placed near the centre of the line of
march, and Mah^gan himself always brought up
the rear, that being the post usually occupied by
an Indian chief on all occasions, excepting wbeti
engaged in attack or pursuit of a foe.

The maiden seemed to have resigned herself
composedly to her captive condition ; and if she
still harboured thoughts or projects of escape,
none could detect them in the quiet observant
eye with which she noted the new and interest-
ing ^jects presented to her view. They had
already passed the chain of hills known as the
Ozark range, and leaving the Black Hills to the
northward, were crossing the sandy elevated
plain which lies between them and the Rocky
Mountains ; the sand of this district is of a red-
dish hue, and in many places the hollows and
smaU ravines are incrnsted with salt, which
gives them, at first, the appearance of being
covered with snow ; large masses of rock salt
are also of frequent occurrence, and give to the
Waters of all the smaller tributaries of the Upper
Arkansas a brackish and briny taste.

One evening, a little before sunset, Prairie*
bird checked her horse, to enjoy at leisure the
magnificent panorama before her ;' and even the
suspicions Mahega forbore to interrupt her en-
joyment of its beauties, contenting himself with
viewing them as reflected on her own lovely
countenance. To the northward was an abrupt
crag of sandstone rock, powering above the
plain over which the party were now travelling ;
its rugged outline broken into a thousand fis-
sures and rents, probably by the might of a
rushing torrent in hy-gone years, frowned like
the turrets and battlements of an ancient feudal
castle, and the maiden's fancy (recurring to
some of the tales wh'co had found their way
into her slender library) peopled its lofty towers
and spacious courts below with a splendid host
of chivalry, fairest and foremost among whom
was the proud and martial figure of Reginald
Brandon !

Bnishing a teardrop from her eye, she avert-
ed it from the castellated blufiT, and turned it
westward, where was spread a gradually as-
cending plain, covered with cedars, pines, and
rich masses of various forest growth *, far be**
yond which the Great Peak, highest of the
Northern Andes, reared its majestic form, the
setting sun shedding a flood of golden light
upon the eternal snow reposing on its crest,
with admiring wonder, Prairie-bird, to whom
the dread magnificence of mountain scenery
was new, gazed on the mighty landscape stretch-
ed oixt before her ; she held her breath as the
rays of the sinking sun changed the golden flee-
cy haze around the distant peak to a rosy hue,
and soon again to a deeper saflfVon tint : and
when, at last, it disappeared behind i,he rocky
barrier in the west, Fiairie-bsd covered bet

THB PRAI|tII->BIEa

fljM wilh ber kaB48, aa if k» f nj^y over again
Id memory a scene of suca surpassing beauty,

*' Yes,** ahe exclaimed lial/ aloud ; ** many o'
the works of ma a are wonderful, and the fictions
•f bis fancy yet more marvelJoua, eren visions
■Ii2h as rose before my imaginatkMi, when «ob-
tamplaiing yon rugged, craggy height, bat what
are they when compared to the living wonders
of creation 1 Almighty Creator — ^merciful Fa-
ther! Thou hast led the steps of thy feeble
a#)d helpless child to this wild and remote
moantain solitude ! it is filled with Thy pres-
ence ! Thou art her protector and guide— her
trust is in Thee !"

Mahega gazed with awe on the maiden as,
with parted lips, and eyes upturned to the glow-
ing western heaven, she seemed to commune
,9with some unseen mysterious being; and the
other Indians, watchful of their leader's coun-
tenance, kept at a respectful distance until her
short reverie was past, when the party resumed
their march towards the spot chosen for the
evening encampment.

The journey over the ascending sandy plain
bfsfore mentioned occupied several days, at the
end of which they reached the opening of a fer-
tile valley, sheltered on three sides by steep
ridges, well covered with wood, and watered hy
a clear stream ; far as the eye could reach, the
plain to the southward was studded with vast
herds of buffalos grazing in undisturbed securi-
ty ; the timid antelope bounded across the dis-
tant prairie ; and as the travellers entered the
valley the qaick eye of Mahega detected, on the
▼elf et turf stretched beneath the northern ridge,
numerous tracks of the mountain deer and of
the argali, or big-horn, a species of goat, the
chamois of the Rocky Mountains* found gener-
nily among the most rugged cliffs and precipi-
ces ; to the scenery of which his long beard,
bright eye, and enormous twisted horn give a
wild and picturesque effect. Mahega was so
struck with the singular advantages offered hy
this valley, both as affording a sheltered camp,
ample pasturage for the horses, and a plentiful
supply of game, that he resolved to take up
there his summer quarters, and in selecting the
spot for his encampment displayed the sagacity
and foresight peculiar to his character.

About a mile from the point where the valley
opened upon the plain, there was, at the base*
of the northern ridge, a curved and secluded
verdant basin of turf, the entrance to which was
so narrow and so well shaded by overhanging
trees that it was not visible from any distance,
and could not be approached on any other side,
owing to the precipitous height of the crags by
which it was surrounded ; on an elevated peak
or promontory, immediately above the opening
whksh led to this natural lawn, grew a number
ox thick massive dwarf cedars, from under the
shade of which a clear sighted man could com*
mand a view of the whole valley, and give early
notice to those encamped below, of the approach
of danger. Having satisfied himself that by
posting a watchman there he eould secure him-
s^ against the unperoeived attack of any foe,
Mah6^ left three of his most trustworthy men
in-ehsffge of Oiitipa, and having despatched the
remainder of his party to kill bofialo, proceeded
to make a carefiil scrutiny of the valley, in or-*
te to aaoertaia whetiiey tbem were dgjoB of

Indiana in the neigbboarbood, aad whether, in
the event of hie being oompeUed to shift hie
quarters, he eouM find any defile through whieh
it might be practicable to efieot a retreat.

For three wlxile days be porseed his aeareh
with unremitting tml, during which time he ae*
certained that there were no visible traces of
Indians being near, and that three milea higher
up the valley there was a transverse opening ia
the northern ridge, which led to another and a
larger valley, through which flowed a river of
considerable magnitude. In tbe mean time the
Osages had not been idle, and, although little
pleabbd to perform menml services, auch as are
usually le(i to their w<>n>en, they pitched the
tent of Olitipa with much taste, lit the foot of a
huge rock, and between two lofty pines ; next
to it they constructed, at a distance of only a
few yards, a lodge for their chief, by stretching
double plies of iHiffalo hide over bent poles cut
after their fashion ; and again beyond that they
raised a larger and ruder skin lodge for them-
selves ; the guitar and the few moveables be-
longing to Prairie-bird were carefully piled in
her tent, and, aa a watch was stationed at tbe
opening to the valley, she was free to wander
as she pleased among the trees whk;h bordered
tbe edge of the lawn en which they were en*
camped.

** Surely" said the maiden, casting her eyes
upward to the beetling crags above, and then-
letting them rest upon the green turf at her
feet, ** if it be God's pleasure that I should be a
captive still, he baa granted me, at least, the
favour of a goodly prison wherein to dweli."

She observed, with gratitude, the change that
had taken place in the demeanour of Mah^^a
towards herself; so far from being harsh or vi«
olent, he was respectful in the highest degree,
and, whether the change was owing to his fears,
or to more creditable motives on the part of the
Osage, she followed the advice tendered by the
missionary, b]i treating him with courteous
gentleness. Whenever he addressed her it was
in Delaware ; and her perfect familiarity with
that tongue rendered it easy for her to make
such replies as the occasion might demand,
sometimes ambiguous, sometimes mysterious,
but sdways such as were not calculated to irri*
tate or offend his pride.

Venison and buffalo meat aboundea in the
Osage camp, the choicest morsels being al-
ways set apart for the use of Prairie-bird ; and
Lite gathered for her various kinds of berries
which are plentiful in that region, some of them
resembling the gooseberry, the serviceberry
and others of excellent flavour; there was also
found an esculent root, called by the Indiana
'* <Kita*no-fNiV* of a fatinaceous quality, which
the Comanche girl had often seen en her native
plains, and from which, when she had beatea
and pulverized it between tvro flat stones* she
baked a kind of cake, that vi^as by no means ua-
palateable.

The Osages had now been encamped nearly
a week on this pleasant and aheltered spot, di«
viding their time between their two favourite
oeeupations of hunting and smoking ; neither
had any freah Indian trail been discovered to
arouae their suspicion or theur watchfulneae.
Before retiring to rest, it was usual for Mahega
to cone befoca the tent of Prairiorlunii aaA.

no

TH8 PRAIRIB-Bllta

■lie, aware of the heiplessnesa of her sitaation,
flame for h to meet bim, receiving wHh guarded
oourtesy the fine compliments which he thought
fit to pay her, and replying in a tone which, al-
tboogh not directly encouraging to his hopes,
was calculated to soothe the irritation which
her former treatment of him, and the recollec-
tion of his unsuccessful struggle with Reginald,
liad left upon his mind.

And here we may pause to obeenre how the
•trange contradictions that are found in the
hnmao character, frequently produce a line of
conduct which would, at first sight, appear irre-
ooncileable with all probability, and yet, which
18 in strict accordance with the secret workings
of the wayward will by which it is directed.
Thus Mahega, when he first became smitten
with the beauty of Prairie-bird in the Delaware
camp, where she was surrounded by friends
and protectors,. wooed her with the rough im-
petuosity of bis nature, and, finding his advances
rejected, he resorted, as we have seen, to brutal
violence, his passion being so much heightened
by the obstacles which it encountered, that, in
order to gratify it, he provoked that quarrel
with the Delawares in which so much blood,
both of his own people and of his allies, had
been already shed. Now that he was trium-
phant, and felt secure of the person of his cap-
tive, a new and ardent desire had arisen within
him, a desire to compel her to love him. In
this pursuit, also, his proud and hauffhty spirit
led him to anticipate success, and nius, for a
time, the darker and more malignant feelings
of his bosom slumbered undisturbed.
) One evening, when he had held his customary
talk with Prairie-bird, he retired to his lodge
and the maiden to her tent, where she took up
her long-neglected guitar, and ran her fingers
earelessly through its strings. Lita sat by her
side, braiding the front of a pair of moccassins
with stained quills of the porcupine, and, al-
though neither sigh nor tear betnayed her feel-
ings, Prairie-bird, whose heart now led her in-
tuitively to dive into that of her companion,
saw that sad and busy thoughts were there ;
the Comanehe giri, proud and reserved as she
was with others, had been won by the gentle-
ness of her mistress, to entertain for her an at-
tachment, that was now strengthened and ce-
mented by the trials and dangers which they
had shared together ; it might,* indeed, be sup-
posed that, as both were now captives of the
chief of another tribe, the relation of mistress
and servant had ceased, yet Lita seemed to
think otherwise, and her attendance upon
Prairie-bird wa£i; if possible, more devoted than
before.

'* Foi whom are yc:: ornamenting those moc-
eaasins, Lital" inquired the latter, with a sad
tmile.

•« For whom !" repeated Lita, casting up her
iark eyes, and fixing them on her mistress as
i she would read her soul. The tone in which
•he exclamation was uttered, and the look by
which it was accompanied, assured Prairie-bird
iliat her conjectures were well founded.

When the heart is full, one overflowing drop
lells the contents of the golden chalice ; and
from the wo words speken by her companion
Olitipa gathered her noeaning as well as if the
aad TapUady <'It ih«r» toy other beiiiff on

earth bat one^ for whem I ean be hraidmf

them r*

The voice of Prairie-bird trembled with a
conscious fellow-feeling, as she said, ** Lita,—^
ask not to know your secret, but I pray to tha
Great Spirit so to direct the steps of him for
whom those moccassins are; made, that he may
receive them at your hands, and wear them for
your sake !"

On hearing these words a deep blush cama
over the face and neck of the Comanche girl ;
a word of kindness bad touched a spring, which
in her wild and wayward nature would havB
been unmoved by fear or by violence, and she
threw herself into the arms of Prairie-bird,
giving vent to long-concealed emotions, in a
flood of ce'ars.

Scarcely had she regained her composure,
and resumed her braiding, when the quick ear
of Prairie-bird caught the sound of a low chirrup^
like that of a grasshopper, close at the back of
the tent ; she remembered to have heard that
signal before; the blood fled from her cheek,
and she held her breath in agitated silence;
again the sound was repeated, and Prairie-bird
stole to the comer of the tent whence it pro-
ceeded, and stooping her head, said, in English,
'* If Wingenund is there, let him speak.*'

" My sister !** whispered the soft voice of thci
youth in reply.

" 'Tis he ! 'tis my dear young brother him*
self!"

" Is all quiet. Prairie-bird 1"

" All is quiet."

" Then Wingenund will pull out one of these
tent-pegs, and creep in below the canvass, — he
has much to say to his sister."

In spite of the emotion caused by her brother's
sudden appearance, apd by the recollection that
if discovered bis life would certainly be forfeited.
Prairie-bird retained suflUcient presence of mind
to continue passing her fingers through the
chords of her guitar, in order to drown the
noise made by Wingenund in removing the fas*
tenings and efl^ecting his entrance t^low the
tent. At length he stood before her, and after
gazing sadly, fondly on his countenance for a
few mon&ents, she fell upon his neck and wept !
The figure was indeed that of her favourite
lyother, but oh, how changed since she had last
seen him ! Gold, wet, sleepless nights, fatigue
and hunger, had all combined to wear and ex*
haust a frame which, although cast in Nature's
fairest and most graceful mould, had not yet
reached the enduring strength of manhood ; bia
once gay attire was soiled and ragged, the moc-
cassins on his feet were of undressed bison*
hide, torn, and scarcely afiTording any protection
against the stones and thorny plants with which
that region abounds ; his light bow, with a ^%w
arrows still hung at his back, and the hunting*
knife at his girdle ; this was all that remained
of the gay accoutrements with which he had
been adorned in the Osage village ; yet, al*
though the frame was emaciated, and the cheeks
sunken, the proad lustre of his eye told of a
spirit unquencbed by suflfbring, and rising supe*
rior to the trials which had almost destroyed its
earthly tenement. Prairie-bird longed to ask
an hundred questions in a breath ; bow he had
come 1 whether he had seen or learnt anything
of War-Kagle and of Rsfiaaid 1 but aflEbctionste

THE PRAIRlE-BlRD.

Ill

•MQpassion for her joung. brother's sad oondi-
lion overcoming every other feeling, she said
to him, ** Dear, dear Wingenund, you are wea-
ned to death, sit by me and rest; joa are
itarved, are you not 1**

*'Wingenund has not eaten for two days/*
replied the youth, seating himself gently at his
aister^s side.

Fortunately, more than half of the evening
meal, apportioned to Prairie* bird and Lita, re-
mained untouched in the tent, and the latter
instantly set before the youth some well- cooked
eakes and bison -meat, luxuries such as had not
passed his lips for many a day ; and having also
placed a vessel of water within his reach, she
went, with the intuitive delicacy and sagacity
ef her sex, towards the opening of the tent, so
IS to afford Prairie-bird an opportunity of speak-
ing unrestrainedly to her brother, and at the
fame time to secure them as far as possible
against interruption. Wingcnund, with all his
heroic patience and self-denial, was a young
half-starved Indian, and the delicacies set before
him vanished in a few minutes, as if they had
been placed before a famished wolf. Prairie-
bird oflfered him a draught of water, adding,
with an afTectionate smile, "My brother, His
well that there is no more meat, a full meal is
dangerous after so long a fast !*'

** it is enough,*' replied the youth ; *' Winge-
mmd is well now."

** Tell me, then, how you have followed to
this distant region, and whether you have seen
anything of War-Eagle, and of— his friends ^ *'

•• Wingennnd has seen none,** he replied ;
* nothing, except the trail of Mahega, and that
he would have followed to the big salt lake, or
to death."

*'But how has it been possible for yon to
pursue the trail undiscovered, to find food, and
to avoid strange Indians on the path ?*'

" Wingenund kept far behind the Washashe ^
their eyes could not reach him ; he has left on
every day*s trail marks that War-Eagle will
know ; they will speak to him as plainly as my
sister's medicine book tells her the Great Spirit's
will. He will come soon and his friends with
him.*'

'* But my brother has not told me how he
procured food on this toilsome journey 1*'

'* When the Lenape's heart is full, he thinks
h'tUe of food," replied the youth proudly. He
added, in a more subdued tone : ** It was not
easy to find meat, for the Washashe had driven
the bison from their path, and Wingenund could
not leave their trail. Twice he has met bad In-
dians, who tried to kill him."

" And how did he escape them, being with-
OBt a horse 1'* inquired Prairie-bird.

** They were loo many for him to fight, and
he ran from them, but being weak with hunger,
one Aricar& overtook him by the waters of the
Arkansas. Wingenund shot him, and plunging
into the river, dived ; and the others never
found him ; but Wingenund lost his rifle ; and
since then he has eaten only roots and fruit.*'

The simple narrative of the hardships and
■offerings which her young brother had under-
gone for her sake, and which his emaciated ap-
pearance attested but two well, brought fresh
tears to the eyes of Prairie- bird, but she check-
ad them as well as she was able, and said,

" Tell me yet one more thing ; how have yoi

been able to reach this spot unperceived by th«
Osage watchmen 1**

** Wingenund saw from far the camp chosea
by Mahega ; he saw that he could not approach
it in front ; but the rocks behind are rough and
high ; he made a rope of bark and grass, climb*
ed up the height, and let himself down from n
pine-tree above the tent ; but in case he should
be discovered and killed by the Osages, he has
left an arrow where War-Eagle is sure to find
it, and the arrow will show him where to come."

'* Dear, dear Wingenund, you are Indeed i
brother," said the maiden, deeply moved by the
mingled foresight, patience, and devotion that he
had evinced. ** You are, indeed, a worthy son
of the ancient people."

Here she was interruped by a shrill cry ; Lita
was at the same instant thrown rudely aside by
Mahega, who rushed into the tent, followed by
two of his warriors. Wingenund sprang to
his feet, but ere he could draw the knife from
his girdle he was seized by the Osages, and his
arms pinioned behind his back.

Dark and lowering was the frown which the
angry chief cast upon his prisoner. The De«*
aware youth quailed not before it ; the hour of
trial had arrived, and the haughty spirit rising
within him, triumphed over all that he had un-
dergone ; all that he knew he had yet to under-
go. He drew himself to the full height of his
graceful figure ; and fixing his bright keen eye
fall upon Mahega, awaited his fate in silence.

" Has the cunning antelope of the Delawares
run so far to see the den of the Black Wolf 1"
demanded the chief, with a contemptuous sneer.
" Has the buffalo bull sent the calf on a path
that he was afraid to tread himself 1 Have the
Lenape girls sent one of their number to carry
wood and water for the Washashe warriors t"

Mahega paused ; and on finding that his
cowardly and brutal jeers called forth no reply,
nor changed a muscle on the haughty counte-
nance before him, his anger grew more ungov-
ernable, and he exclaim^ in a voice of thun-
der, " If the cur-dog will not bark, the whip,
and the knife, and the fire shall find him a
tongue ! If he wishes not to be torn in pieces
on the spot, let him say what brought him to
the Osage camp, and where he has left War-
Eagle, and his pale-faced friends !" Neither to
the threats nor the inquiries of Mahega, did
Wingenund deign to make any reply, and the
enraged chief struck him across the face with
a heavy bull-hide whip suspended from his
wrist;* the blow was given with such force
that it laid open the youth's cheek, and a stream
of blood poured from the cut. At the sight of
this unmanly outrage, the self-control of Prai-
rie-bird almost gave way, but a look from her
brother recalled her to herself, and checked the
impulse which would have led to the utterance
of entreaty mingled with indignant reproach.

*' Speak not, my sister," said the hero boy in
the Delaware tongue ; ** speak not to the cow-
ardly Washashe wolf! Waste not your breath
on one who has only courage to strike when his
enemy's hands are tied !"

* The IndteBs in the IfiMonrl eonstnntly carry a tlioil
whip of bull, or cow-hide, siis|nnd«<l ftttm their wrl^
with wMeh, when la persull of hufiiUa, or any odMT
f aaafl^ they iaih their konet moei uaaieiclfliUv •,

m

THB FBAIRIB.BIRB.

MaMita fixed bb ^ea upon the maiden, and
n sudden thought lighted up his countenance
with a gleam of malignant triumph. Approach-
ing close to her, he said in a stern low whisper,
** To-morrow, before the sun goes down, Olitipa
becomes the bride of Mahega, or that boy is
burned at a slow fire with such tortures as the
Ifeoap^fi never thought of in dreams !" So say*
ipg, he ordered the prisoner to be carefully
guarded ^nd left the tent.

CHAPTER XXXX.

^ar*Eagle*8 Party follow the Trail.— A Skirmish, and its
Attcuits. — Ttis Chief undertakes a perilous Juuruejr alone,
and his Conipaiiiuiis find sufficient Occupatioa during his
Absence.

NoTWiTHSTANmNG the pains that Wingenund
sad taken to leave en the trail such occasional
indications as might assist War-Eagle in follow-
ing it, the progress made by the latter was much
slower than might have i^en expected by any
one who knew the fierce desire of veneeance that
burned within him. Several times did the impa-
tience of Reginald Brandon vent itself in words,
which he addressed in an undertone to Baptiste,

"I fear that my Delaware brother has lost
some of his energies, in this great calamity
which has befallen bis tribe \ when he followed
the Dahcotah trail bis foot was light and swiA,
now, when more than life and death may hang
upon the events of an hour, his march is heavy
and slow as that of a jaded ox,"

"Master Reginald," replied the Guide; "you
do the War-Eagle wrong. A trail on this hard
barren region is not like one in the prairies of
fllinois, or Missouri, where, in every little hot*
torn, there are patches of long grass on which it
is marked as plain as a high road. We have
passed to-day several trails of strange Indians,
OTobably Aricaras or Upsarokas ;• had the War-
Eagle made a mistake and followed one of these,
we might have wandered several days before we
recovered our right route ; watch his eye, it is
bent on the ground, not a blade of grass escapes
it; he has not time for a word, even with you."

" I believe you are right, Baptiste; vet I have
DOW studied my Delaware brother's counte-
nance and character for some time. I have seen
him under the influence of strong, ay of deadly
passion, and I truly wondered at bis self-control,
bat there seems now to be a dull, heavy load
upon his spirit, as if it were overwhelmed."

" Look at vour feet this moment," quoth the
Guide ; " and tell me if, on this hard spot, you
can trace the trail on which we are moving."

" In truth I could not," said Reginald, looking
down ; " I grant our friend's sagacity in follow-
ing it, but w]jifLt has that to do with the state of
his mind and temper, which we were discuss-
ing 1"

" More, perhaps, than you think, Master Re-

finald. Along this very path the steps of Ma-
6ga and his warriors have passed, the hoofs of
the horse bearing Olitipa have trod it; it is now
broad daylight, yet you can see nothing; do vou
mx>nder, then, that yo i cannot discern the trail of

* Upaaroka, the Indian name of the tribe naaally desig-
nated, in Rocky Mountain Travels, as the " Crowa,'* a fierce,
raring nation, vfho wnm then, aa thev still are, at deadlv
•Qmity with their neigrhbonre the Blackfeet, amdarree with
than aa\f in the prapaasily to phokler or kill whito men,
wnaneTcr ofVMbniky

the thongbts and purpose; that travel, in tbe
dark, over the heart of the Delaware V*

*< Baptiste," said Reginald, smiling, '«I knew
that YOU were a skilful hunter, and an experi-
enced woodsman, but I never before knew that
you were a philosopher 1"

"Nor I either, Master Reginald; but perhafis
I may not be one ailer<alL What is a philoso^
pherl"

This blunt question, from the sturdy Guides
seemed somewhat puzzling to his young master,
and the former continued, laughing, *'Well, I
suppose it's some curious kind a criitur or otl^
that we never heard of in the woods, and yon
don't seem to have met it often yourself, or^ou'd
not find it so hard to give a description of ill"

<' Yon are right, Baptiste, it is a creature not
very often met wiih, either in the woods or in
civilized life, but as I have likened you to it, I
am in duty bound to describe it to you as well as
I can. A philosopher is a man whose desires
are moderate, and his passions under due con*
trol; who can trace human actions to their real
motives, and efiTects to their true causes; who
can read the character of others without prejn*
dice, and study his own without self-partiality |
who can bear prosperity without pride, and ad«
versity without repining; — such is my idea of a
philosopher, the sketch is rough, but sufficient
to give you some notion of the object in view.**

The Guide, was silent for a few moments; he
took ofif his hairy cap and twirled it several
times round in bis bony hands, as was his fre-
quent custom when perpleied. At length be m*
plied, *' Well, Master. Reginald, if that be what
you call a philosopher, Vm sure War-Eagle is
more like one than I am, and perhaps, you^l not
take offence if I sa^ that he is more like' one ihaa
you are yourself; it comes natural to an Ingiaa
to read his neighbour's heart and hide what
passes in his own. And, as to governing his
passions, I think you have seen enough to con-
vince you that, although they were as hot and
Wild as was the horse which you bestride, they
are now as obedient to the briale as Nekimi."

**I grant it," said Reginald, reining in the
proud steed alluded to in the Guide's illustra-
tion; "I grant it, and see how earnestly oar
Delaware friend is now bent upon his task; he
has made a signal for the party to halt, and is
stooping to examine a blade oi grass, as if \iie
itself depended upon his acute sagacity."

It was, indeed, as the young man said ; the
Delaware chief had stooped to examine a bunch
of grass by the side of the trail, in which bis
quick glance had detected a small object which
would have escaped a less practised eye; with a
subdued exclamation of surprise he seized it,
and concealed it for a moment in his hand, a ray
of animation lighting up his fine countenance;
it was but for a moment, his features almost im-
mediately relapsed into their usual melancholy,
frave expression ; and drawing near to Reginald,
e put into his hands a small golden clasp, say*

ing,

" My brother. War-Eagle knows it well, it was
ffiven by the Black Father to Olitipa ; the trail
IS clear as the great white pathway of heaven."*

Reginald took the clasp, and seizing the hand
which held it, he pressed it in silence to his
heart; he had marked the varying expression oq
War-Eagle's countenance, he saw how a mo.

* By thii name the milky way ii knonrn amcmg loma c
Ow bdiaa triboa.

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

113

' *

aent*s recoilection had changed the sanguine ex-
vltatloQ of the lover, to the sad, yet steady firm-
ness of the friend ; and his heart yearned towards
his Indian brother with an affection that words
eon Id not express; but the^ were not needed;
his moistenect eye and glowing cheek spoke yol-
urnes to his friend, and War-Eagle bounded for-
ward again upon the trail, his spirit excited by
an incident which, though slight in itself, had
:alled forth high and generous emotions.

A few minutes after the Delaware had resu-
med his post as guide, our hero purposely fell into
the rear of the party, and throwing the rein loose-
ly over the neck of his horse, turned the precious
golden relic over and over between his fingers,
and pressed it a thousand times to his lips ; the
ground over which they were travelling was a
broken series of ravines or ridges, and thus he
was enabled to indulge in the extravagant en-
dearments which he bestowed upon the senseless
trinket, without being exposed to the carious
eyes of his fellow-travellers, now out of his sight

He was aroused from his reverie by a terrific
yell, accompanied by a sharp sensation of pain,
and on raising his eyes perceived at once that he
was cut off from his partv by a mounted band of
Indians, one of whom had shot an arrow through
the fleshy part of his thigh, into the flap of the
•addle, where it was still sticking. Instantly de-
ciding that it was better to trust to the speed of
Nekimi, than to the desperate change oi forcing
ys way through the Indians in front, he strucK
(he steed with nis heel, and turning l^is head to-
wards the open prairie to the leu of the trail,
went off at full speed, followed by several mounts
fid warriors; his first care was to secure the
clasp within his hunting-shirt ; his next to exam-
ine the priming of his rifle, and of the pistols at
his saddle-bow; finding these all in order, he
looked round at his pursuers, who, although
n^ing their horses by yells and blows, did not
gain upon Nekimi even when going at an easy
gallop.

Reassured by finding the advantage which he
had over his enemies in the speed of his horse,
Reginald cut the arrow where it pinned his leg
to the saddle, and then without much pain or di^
ficulty drew the shaA from the flesh. Being now
satisned that he had nothing to fear fbom the
wound, he turned the head ef his horse in a di-
rection parallel to the trail on which his party
had been marching, as he felt that his ultima "*
safety must depend upon his not being separatea
from them.

A loud yell, followed by a succession of rifle-
shots, announced to him^ that the attack on his
friends had commenced ; and although the bro-
ken nature of the ground still prevented him
from seeing them, he *could gather from the
sound that they were at no great distance ; right-
ly judging that they must be anxious respecting
his own safety, he now applied his bugle to his
Jps, and blew a clear blast, which Baptiste imme-
diately recognised as the concerted signal for
" All's well," and cheerily responded to.

The Indians in pursuit of Reginald reined in
their horses, and stood gazin? at each other in
astonishment, at sound? which had never before
reached their ear, and all, excepting one, wheel-
ed to rejoin the main body of their band ; he
who remained was evidently a chief, or princi-
pal brave, his dress was splendidly adorned with
scalp-locks, sagle-feathers, and beads; and in-
stead of the jQaven crown and single tuft of hair
usually worn by the Pawnees, and other Indians
H *

of the Platte and Missouri region, his long black
hair streamed over his shoulders, and feu upon
the haunches of the wild spirited courser on
which he was mounted. ^fvheD. he found that
(he number of his enemies was reduced to a
single one, Reginald was not of a temper to eon-
sider flight as any iong[er necessary, so he check-
ed the speed of Nekimi, and trotting to the sum-
mit of a rising-ground in front of him, saw, at a
little distance in the ravine below, the skirmish
that was still continued between his friends and
the attacking party.

But he was not long permitted to remain an
idle spectator, for the Indian, having recovered
from the surprise occasioned by the bugle-call,
was again approaching him at full speed!; Regi-
nald turned his horse towards his assailant, and
deliberately raising his rifle, waited until the
latter should be near enough to afford him a cer-
tain aim ; but the Indian observing his cool, de-
termined bearing, and having some experieftce
of the dangerous nature of the white man^s weap-
on, suddenly wheeled his horse, and galloped to
and fro in a zigzag direction, sometimes advan-
cing, sometimes retreating, with a rapidity
that left Reginald in doubt whether he were
meditating an attack, or desirous only of ex-
hibiting his wonderful powers of horsemanship.

These doubts were, however, soon resolved;
for in one of these swiA evolutions, when passin?
the spot where Reffinald stood, at a distance of
fifty yards, the Indian suddenly threw himself
half off his horse, and han^ngover its side, dis-
charged from under the animal's neck an arrow,
which whizzed close by Reginald's ear; then,
when he was himself out of shot, resumed his
seat in the saddle, and again wheeling his horse,
prepared to repeat a manoeuvre which had so
nearly been attended with success.

On this second occasion Re^nald was resolv-
ed to try his chance with the nfle, and when his
enemy, emboldened by the quiet, and apparently
surprised demeanour of the wnite man, threw
himself again over the side -of his horse, and
came within a nearer range, our hero levelled
his rifle at the animal, whose body shidded com-
pletely that of his opponent, and the bjiU taking
effect behind the shoulder, both horse and man
rolled upon the grass.

Reginald sprung from his saddle and hastened
to the spot, hoping to secure the Indian while
still encumbered by the fallen horse, but the ac-
tive savage leaped upon his feet, and not having
tiu e to fit an arrow to the string, struck a fu-
rious, but unsuccessful blow at the young man's
head with his bow, then uttering nis war-cir,
rushed upon him with a long sharp knife that he
had drawn from his belt ; but the Indian had
mistaken both the skill and strength of the oppo-
nent with whom he thus rashly endeavoured to
close, and in a moment Reginald's cutlass was
buried in his chest. In vain he summoned all
his remaining strength to strike a last blow, both
hand and eye refused their aid, and he fell heavi-
ly forward upon the grass ; Reginald, sheath-
ing his cutlass, knelt by the side of the wounded
man, and strove to staunch the blood ; but his
efforts were fruitless, the lungs were pierced, and
it was evident that death was fast approaching.

The Indian, still conscious of what was pass-
ing around, and momentarily expecting the scalp-
knife upon his forehead, the usual fate of the
conquered among those of his race, gazed in
surprise upon the countenance of the young!
man, who was now tending him with compas-

1»

THIB P

ionate aiaietjri tbcf coakl'. nols intenbanfe a
WjCtfd ;, the lodiaii. feebly raisedthis baod to his
h^a^) wt(faf» afi: inqpirifi^-look, aod then pointed
lotfae kotfe^. E^nald shook bis: bead, as if' to
intimaietthat he need be under Do>appnUnisioii
of U'«t iadignit|r,.ainii tfaeneonfiisaedibis eanesi^
bm iaeffiaolQalieadeavQars to staunch the flow-
ing bloiKii while tbe sttfiTerer^s head rested. upon
hiaeboiiMer.

Poring this time not a groui escaped from the
ipe of ibe< sarage warrior:; but feeliiig hia endat
hand, he gathered his dying energies and talcing
fiiemihia neck; the magoificem collar which he
woreft made from the; claws of a grizzljr; bear,'
bound! together with, skins of snoW'*white er^
tma9k he gave it to Reginald, making him a sign
that ha^afioiikl.wearit, then sn^raorting himself
iOi a sitting posture by the end oi^his boW| whieb
hO: had caught; UB from the ground, and with his
cfB steadily- fiaced upon the snow^clad peak.now
Ti^lblO' ittt the western horizon, the praine-warw
rior brealhfld his. last.

A^ sQOft aa Reginald was insured that life
waa extinct, heatretched the unconscious limbs,
elosed the eyes^ gathered the massive hair over
th(a rigid coumenanee^ and arranged i the arms
and aceontrements: decently beside the fallen
cjideftain, knowingwell that it would not be long
before the body was; borne off by those of his
own trihOk. There was neither ezulmtion nor
triumnh on the young man's countenance, as he
looked from the lifeless form of bis late adver*-
sary to that of the steed, which lay dead beside
him, on which, not many minutes before, he
was careeriaff over his native plains in the pride
and vigour of manhood; befell that the strength,
the activity, the courage of the savage warrior,
were equal to his: own; that it had depended
upon a single successfiil thrust whether of the
two should be now taking his- last uncoffined
sleej^ in the wildamess. Sad thoughts of his
waiting mother and aister. musings on the fate
of PrairieHfairdslx^ upon nis heart, aad he coni-
tinned gaaing almost tmeonsetously on the body
of the Indian, until he was aroused by a shritl
blast from the bogle = of Baptiste; the signal
blast wasT ''^Beware';'^ and casting hte eyes
aronndv he: saw that the band (^'Indians who
had been skirmishing with War»Bagle*s pa«y,
were- advaneiag. at full ^wed to the-spot where
he stood. Hia spirit rekindled by this fresh er-
dlenent, he caught up his rifle^ aad yaulcing;on
the baoki< of rNekimi^ gave him the rein. The
piivsuerssoon found that their chance o&ovcn
taking: him was hopeless j and while thet gather^
ed round the body of their fallen chief, Reginald
rejoined his party, who received him with a
shoo t< of triumph that reached the ears of the
moBiners on the. far prairie.

As Reginald dismoumed and walked gravely
(hiott§^ the group to salute War-Eagle, every
eji^ waaAced upon the bear-claw colttr around
his neeky and ne' received the silent homage
whieh ladtaA warriors pay to successful yalo«r.

There was also a: ^uiet dignified modesty in
the young man's bearing and demeanour, which
did bmH escape their olbatirsMC and approving
eyes. << My brother is^ welcome," said War-
EaglOr extending hia hand* to greet his fHend;
« he has killed a great chief; when the warriors
tell their deeds at the war^daaeei the tongue of
Netis wiR not be silent"

" The red-num of the praisie was brayej" re-
plied Reginald; "he died l&e a warrior. I trust
Uaapiiitis gone to th* happy iaad," '

B-B£RiIL

"Master R^inald," said the guide, thmstiiig
faia large bony hand into that of our hero, "it
did my bean good to see the Ingian fall : he
sprang t^n you like a- tieerj and 1 feared ha
mighikoaiefa you unawares."

<*^No, Baptiste, no; he wma a gallant fellow,
and lam^mly sony that, in self-defence, I waa
obliged to^kiU^him, but the advantages were all
OH: my aM& Nekimi was far swifter than hit
horse, and his knife was no match for my cut^
taeoi Do yoU' know to what tribe he Imd his
pairty f belonged 1?'

'^^Capote^bleut Master Reginald, this is tba>
fint time- yon have sees LtS' CorbeoMo} — U psa^
rolm: they call themselves ; tbey are a wild race."*
And. he added, in a lower tcoei "We shall see*
moieof them before we go much fertber."

"In the skirmish which they had' with yon,
were any woaoded on either sidel"

"Not many, for the rascals- galloped about in
such an unaccountable -flurry, it wasn^ easy to
make sura work with the rifle; but the doctor
scored the riba of one^ and I< think War^Eagle
struck another^ they kept at a rety unfamiliar
distance, and their arrows were as harmless as*
snow-flakes."

"How fared it with Monsieur^ Perroi 1" in-^
quired Reginald, who saw the light-hearted valel
grinning with satisfaction at his master^s vietoiyt
and sam return; "did he not try his skill upon*
any of these marauding Crows V*

"Well, I baldly know," said the guide.
"Muster Perrot is like the bear in the tree, b6>
%hts rery w^t when he can't help it : but [ con*
ceivB' he%' not orer^fond of the redskins ever
since that Dahcotah handled his wig so roughly!
What say yoUj Monsieur Perrot V-

" Mbnsieur Baptiste is not altogether wrong,*^
replied the good-humoured valet; "if one of-
those^ red Corbeaux come very near to peck me,
I do my best to pluck his feathers out; but I'
much rather see a fat partridge or capon than
one of them !"

The coo vnrsation between the Frenchman and
the guide was interrupted by War-Eagle, who
made a sign- to the latter, as well as to Regi*
naid, that he wished to speak with them apart

"Brother," said the Chief, addressing our
hero, "the Upsarokas are many; their warriors:
arei like the bison-herds; they will soon return
to our pathy we must be ready for them. What
is niy brother's x^unsell"

" Bapjtiste,^ said the young man, "you have
more experience in these matters than I have ;
speak first."

The Guide did not reply immediately; he
bent his eyes upon the ground, and his finjers
rested on the head of the massive hatchet from
whence be derived his Iffdian name. When he
spoke it was with slow but decisive enunciation.
'*^War-*E<agle has spoken trolVj the Crows wilt
return in greater' numbers; tney will seek re«-
venge for ths d^ath of their chief; they are
brave, but their arms are bad->-we are few, but
our weapons ca» do service^ My counsel is,
that we choose a strong camp and await their
coming; we will then handle them so that they
shall not desire to interrupt us again, or perhaps
they may oSietU> make a treaty upon our own
terms.*

"The words of Orande-Hiche are wise," ra>
joined the Chief; "he does not waste his breath
m blowing against tne wind. What says my
brother Netisi"

"EU saysy" replied Reginald, with his «liar

tflif pRXiierE.Bififij

115

mcteristic impetuosity, ''that the counsel of
Graude-llftche may be good for odr own safety,
but it will not bring us nearer to Mahega. ^te•
lis would follow the Osage trail in spite, of all
the Crows between the Platte and the Mounts

u

ai&s.

** My brother speaks like a^ Warrior without
fear,-' said the Chief in reply; "yet We cannot
follow the trail of the Washasbe while fiehting
by day and by night wiih the Upsarolfa. Yt ir-
EiELgle will join the counsel of Grande- HAche to
that of Netis. Let us choose a strong Camp,
bring in plenty of meat, and prepare to receive
the Upsaroka. I will steal away alone in the
aight. I will follow the trail of Miah^aii and
return to tell my brother what 1 have seen. Ic
is enough, 1 have spoken."

Both the Guide and Reginald approved the
Chiers decision; and although our hero would
*atber have accompanied him ott the trail, he
felt that he would impede the progress of his
Indian brother,, whose flee mess of ioot was so
much greater than his own; he therefore a^aui-
esced with cheerfulness, and they set forWara to
select a camp that sboQld unite the advantages
of a defensible position (b those of a plentiful'
supply oC water.

For several hours "^ar-Eagle jfursued the
Osage trail without haltingly but his keeii eye
roved occasionally from side to i^ide in selaith
of a spot favourable for encampment, while
Reginald and Baptiste brought up the rear of
the party ; the former mounted on Nekimi, pre-
pared to gallop forward to the front and give the
alarm; ih case of the reappearance of the ma-
lauding Crows. About an hour before sunset
theyreached a valley watered by a small stream,
the taste of which proved refreshing, and free
from the saClt with which that region abounds ;
near the centre of the valley was a thick copse
of alder and willow, covering a space of fifty or
futy yards square. On forcing his way through
(!ie outer bushes, War-Eagle found an open plot
of fine level turf, entirely surrounded by the
co^ which sheltered it from view on all sides.

The Delaware, having brought his party into
this natural encampment, and piCqueted the
horses within the space above-mentioned, made
at careful examination of the thicket, in which
he was accompanied by Reginald and Baptiste;
Chey then selected the points from which they
could best command the approaches from dif-
ferent quarters; at these tney piled logs and
branches matted with grass and turfj from be-
hind which secure, though slight breast-work,
they couid take deliberate aim at any hostile
party approaching from the prairie. Before
dusk their preparations were complete; the
watch was set, and the remainder, after a frugal-
snpper, forgot the fatigues of the day in sleep.

The night passed without the occurrence of
any alarm; and an hour before daylighL War-
J^agle arose and prepared himself for Buf'peril-
ous expedition, alter the ancient fashidh of litis
tribe; a fashion which the Delawares, in com-
mon with most of the semi-civilized Indians,
vave in these modern days neglected, if n6t'for-
gotten.

Having smeared himself from head' to foot
With an ointment ifmde from 4he fat and mar-
row of deer, he painted his face and chest with
stripes of a dan^ colour, purposely making the
fbim and device to resemble those of the Mis-
soarian nations. He wore upon his legs a light
pair o^doeftkio leggins, without omamenty siip-

ported at the Waist by his belt; from tlie jatter
was suspended on one side his tomahawk, on
the other his knifie^ he also stuck inxo it a brace
of loaded pistols given to him by Reginahjl,;a&d
within the folds secured some bullets and chiargca
of powder, as well as a few slices of dried buf-
falo- m^at; his throat, chest, and arms wero
nak^d, with the exception of a small light
blanket, which. When thrown across his shoul-
der, did not in me least impede the free exercise
either of his hands or feet. As spee^ was now
his chief object, he left both his rifle and his
heavy wai'-club in the charge' of Re|^nald, who
looked on with mingled feelings ofadmiration
and envy, while his friend was preparing for his
solitary journey. Snowing that War-Eagle, if
successful in his undertaking, would see the
Prairie-bird, he longed to send by him a thou-
sand messages of love, yet he remembered and
respected the feelings of his friend, and) con-
Irblling his own, embraced him in silence.

As wai^Eagle was about to depart, Reginald
was surprised at seeing him attach to his Ml a
small bunch of feathers, carefully tied together,
slbd he imagined that they might be in some
measure connected with his Indian brother's to-
t^m, or heraldic designation, but the latter re-
solved his doubts by saying, to him and to Bap-
Uste, .

"Wai^Eaele will follow the trail of Washar
she as swifiTy as his feet can run | whenever it
is diMcuIt to find, or divides in a fork, he will
stick one of these small feathers in the grass;
let * Atto' follow first on the trail; he has been
often on the war-path, and his eyes are. good;
Grande-Hiche with his long rifle should conw
next— let* my brother go last with Nekimi, and
let him always have eyes in his back; the Up-
sarokas are cunning, and the wives. of a dead
chief are lamenting. If War-Eagle lives, he
will return ^uick and meet his brothers on the
trail ; if he is killed, he will meet them after-
wards in the fields where his fathers hunt Fare-
well.'' So saying, the Delaware chief pointed ^
impressively to the distant ridge of the mount- '^
ains, and left the encampment

After the depSrti^re'.of War-Eagle, Reginald
busied himself^ with t|ie aid of Baptiste, in ma-
king fortl^er preparations against the expecteila&>
tack. On inquiring of the latter, he learned, with
much satisfaction, that Atto or A-td (AngUcif
" The Deer,") who had been designated by the
chief as leader on the trail in his absence, was a
tried and experienced warrior. His appearance,
indeed, was not much in his favour, for he was
small and spare in stature, and his features, <
though not positively ugly, were stem, and rare-
Ij^ lighted up by expression ; his eye was pier-*
cing rather than brilliant, and he scarcely ever
spoke, excepting in reply to a question. His
swiftness of foot, which was almost equal to that
of War-Eagle himself, had procured for him the
appellation by which he was known in the tribe.
It should however, in justice to him, be mention-
ed, that he seldom ran from an enemy, for his '
courage was proverbial, and in a former eicpedi-
tiofvagainst tneDahcotahs. he had made severa.
escapes so extraordinary, that his comrades had
given him a name conaisting of sixteen or sev-
enteen syllables, which we will not inflict upon
civilized eyes or ears, but which signifies, " The-
man-who-canno^be-killed-by-an-arrow."

Reginald finding that Atto was familiar whh
the ^glish tongue, and desirous to be on good
terms with his new oflScef, addressed him as fol-
towts

116

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

** Does Atto think that the Upsaroka will come
to-day r

*f Thev will come."

« Will they attack us in this position ?" .

" Perhaps ; the Upsarokas are fpols — they do
^ not know the Lenapd."

"Are yon satisfied with the arrangements we
have made for the defence V

" Yes; but you should let the horses feed 'out-
side, with a guard, or they will soon eat up the
grass within; it will be time enough to drive
them in when the Upsaroka come."

" You are rights" said Reginald, frankly, and
he ordered it to be done immediately.

Savages are extremely like ourselves in all
that concerns the internal workings of self-re-
spect; and if Reginald already stood high in At-
t6*s opinion for his courage and bodily advanta-
ges, the Indian was disposed to think more high-
er of him when he found, even in a matter so tri-
fling, that the young man listened to and follow-
ed his counsel.

The forenoon passed without any tidings of
the Crows, and Reginald, impatient of a state of
inaction, resolved to sally forth upoL Nekimi,
and to make a sweep over the adjacent undula-
ting prairie, to see whether he could discover any
signs of them.

Armed with his knife, pistols, and cutlass, he
slung his spy-glass over his. shoulder, and vault-
ed on the oacK of his favourite, chargin? Bap-
liste and Attd^ now left in joint command of the
garrison, to keep a sharp look-out, and promising
to return before dusk.

How did his blood dance with excitement as
he found himself trotting briskly across. the vir-
gin turf of that wild, boundless, vegetable ocean ;
Beneath him a steed bold, eager, joyous as him-
self; above him a blue immensity of unclouded
sky; and around him breezes fresh from the
snowy chambers of the Nonhem Andes ! Nor
were the sources of excitement from within
wantii^ to complete its measure, — a conscious-
ness of youth, and health, and strength ; a mind
capable of appreciating the wonders of Nature,
and of following them up to their Almighty Fra-
mer; a heart filled to overflowing with me image
of a kindred being whose love he doubted not,
and whom, in spite of dangers and obstacles, his
ardent and sanguine spirit whispered that he
would soon rejom !

Again and again did he draw from his bosom
the precious clasp, which assured him that he
was following her footsteps, and then replacing
it, he would stoop over the neck of Nekimi, and
caressing his playful ear, and gently pressing his
flank, the noble creature caracoled, neighed, and
bounded beneath him, like the " wild and wanton
herd" described in one of the most exquisite
scenes depicted by our immortal dramatist.*

' Notwithstanding the excited flow of his spirits,
Reginald did not forget the object of his excur-
sion ; he not only noted carefully the various re-
markable features of the surrounding country,
vo as to secure, in case of need, his retreat to the
encampment, but he scanned the side of every
>.ill, and the bosom of every vallev that he pass-
ed, to see whether any parties oi the Upsaroka
were yet within view.

He had ridden many miles without seeing any-
thing alive, except a lew stra^glin^ buflalos and
antelopes, and was on the pomt of returning to-
wards the camp, when he descried some moving
b ody on the sky-line in the eastern horizo n;
* Mereluuit of Yenioej Act t

throwing himself from his hor%, he adjusted his
telescope, and fixing it on the object, ascertained
at once that it was a large party of Indians oa
horseback. Although his glass was of excellent
quality, they were so distant that be could not
count them, but he was satisfied that they con-
siderably exceeded a hundred. tDbserving that
their course was directed westwai^, he was able,
by descending an oblique ravine, to reach the
edge of a copse which they were likely to pass
at no great distance, whence, himself unseen, ha
might watch their movements, and form a more
accurate estimate of their force.

He had not been long stationed at the post
which he had selected for this purpose, when the
band came full in view on the ridge of a neigh-
bouring hill.

That it was a war-party of the Crows he could
no longer doubt, as their dress and appearance
were precisely the same, and they were follow-
ing with the faultless sagacity of a pack of blood-
hounds, the trail which he and his companions
had trodden on the preceding day.

Being completely sheltered from their view by
the copse, he was able to observe their move-
ments, and to plan his own accordingly; he
counted upwards of two hundred and fitly mount-
ed warriors, and his impression was that their
numbers amounted in all to nearly three hun-
dred ; they moved forward upon the trail at an
even pace until they reached the brow of the hill,
whence they could perceive, although at a con-
siderable distance, tne thicket in which the Del-
awares were encamped. Pausing here, they held
a brief council ; it was clear that they suspected
that the above-named wood contained those oi
whom they were in pursuit, nor was it long be-
fore their lynx eyes detected a slight column of
smoke curling up above the trees, on seeing
which they shouted aloud, while their rapid and
vehement eesticulations sufiiciently explained to
Reginald tne discovery that they had made.

It was eviaently not the present intention oi
the Crows to make an open attack, for they now
divided *heir force into two bands, each of which
pursued its course along the back of the ridges
which crowned the valley wherein the encamp-
ment lay, and thus they would be enabled to
reach a point not far distant from their enemy
on opposite sides, before their approach could
beperceived.

The position of Reginald himself was now
critical, for in his eagerness to watch the mo-
tions or the Indians, he had allowed them to ^et
between him and his own party ; it only remain-
ed for him, therefore, to decide whether he should
endeavour to reach the camp unperceived, or
trusting to the speed of Nekimi, nde boldly to-
wards it; he chose the latter, rightly judging th«
impossibility of escaping Indian eyes in so open
a country, and he thought it also probable tnat
if they meditated a night aKack upon the en-
campment, they would permit him to enter it
without showing themselves.

Having therefore examined the priming ot
his pistols, and loosened his cutlass in the
sheath, he pushed his way through the thicket,
and emerging on the opposite side, rode dAib
erately forward.

Choosing the most open ground, he pursued
his homeward way down the valley, and though
his eye glanced occasionally to the hills on each
side, not an r Indian was to be seen^^d in less
than an hour he found himself agai^ within th«
precincts of the wooded camp. : .'

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

117

I

The gravity of his demeanour as he ioined
his companions, led them to conjecture tnat he
had seen some trace of their enemies, which im*
pression was confirmed amongst them when he
led Baptiste and Atto aside to hold with them a
council Of war.

Having briefly detailed what he had seen, he
expressed his belief that the Crows had divided
dicir force for the purpose of attacking the camp
in the coarse of the ensuing night, and conclu-
ded by asking their opinion as to the most advi-
sable means of defence. Afler a short delibera-
tion, it was agreed that four men should watch
at the opposite sides of the thicket, each of whom
being well sheltered behind a tog of wood al-
leady rolled to its edge, could detect the ap-
proach of an enemy from the prairie, and that
tach should be provided with two loaded rifles,
K) that in case of his being obliged to fire one to
give the alarm, he might still have another
teady for immediate use.

These preparations having been made, and
the horses brought within the encampment, the
little party sat down to their, supper, and afler-
waids smoked their pipes as unconcernedly as
if neither Crows nor danger were lurking in the
neighbourhood. Night came on, and those whose
tarn it was to sleep, announced by their heavy
breathing that the hour of rest was not unwel-
come ; Monsieur Perrot snored so loudly from
beneath the pile of blankets in which he had en-
veloped himself, that he more than once receiv-
ed a slight 4idmonition from the elbow of the
half-awakened Guide, who lay beside him. Regi-
nald, however, was in a mood which would
have no fellowship with sleep, his thoughts
urere of Prairie-bira, still in Mah^ga's power, of
his Indian brother, now fkr on his solitary and
dangerous journey, of the lurkine foes whose
attack be hourly expected, and oi the familiar
faces at Mooshanne, whom distance and ab-
sence now rendered doubly dear. The night
was dark, for the young moon, after traversing
her appointed section of the southern sky, had
disappeared, and the twinkling stars threw but
an uncertain light, rendered yet more doubtful
by the leafy branches which waved gently to
and fro under the light breath of the night breeze.

In order to give some employment to his un-
quiet spirit, Reginald resolved to visit the sev-
eral stations where his sentries were posted, and
throwing his rifle over his shoulder, arose and
commenced his rounds. Moving with a slow
and noiseless step, he went to each of the posts
in succession, and finding all the watchmen on
the alert, whispered to each a word of approba-
tion. The last station that he visited was occu-
pied by Atto, and Reginald, sitting down behind
the log, conversed with him for a short time, in
a low tone of voice, each pausing at intervals
to listen and look out upon the valley. On a
sudden, Atto, touching his arm, pointed to a
spot near the summit of the neighbouring hill;
and following the direction indicated, Reginald
eould plainly see a small light, as of a dry stick,
which burned for a few seconds and was then
extinguished.

•'Let Netis watch,** whispered the Indian;
'Attd will return directly;'' and with these
words he disappeared in the thicket.

Not many minutes elapsed ere he came back,
ftnd in the same subdued tone, said, "All is
well now, the Upsaroka are coming, Atto saw the
fame light on the other hill ; it is a sign for both
partial to attack from opposite sides at once." .

" All is well, indeed," thought Reginald, with-
in himself "This fellow must have a strange
stomach for fighting, when he applies such a
term to an expected conflict, where the odds art
to be two or three hundred to ten."

These were Reginald's thoughts^ for a mo-
ment; but his words were: "Baptiste, Perrot,
and I, will remain at this post, you can spare
us also one of your warriors ; you will guard
the opposite post with three others; there will
remain one to move constantly round within the
edge of the thicket, to summon us to any point
where the Crows may threaten an attack. Is
the plan good, what says my brother 1"

" It is good," replied the Indian, and they set
about it forthwith m earnest and in silence.

Reginald and Baptiste, having previously ex-
amined all the logs which were now to serve for
their defence, lost no time in selecting their re-
spective stations ; the Indian warrior allotted to
them was placed between them; Monsieur Per-
rot, safely ensconced behind the fallen trunk of
an alder, was to load his' master's rifle, and
when discharged, to replace it by another; and
the defenders of the camp were all instructed
not to fire until their enemies were so near as to
aflbrd a certain aim.

The side on which Reginald was stationed
was the most open to attack, from its being ad-
jacent to the brook that flowed through the cen-
tre of the valley, the banks of which, being dot-
ted here and there with alder-bushes, afiorded
an occasional covert to an approachinc «nemy.
Nearly an hour had elapsed, and Reginald begaa
to suspect that they had mistaken the intentions
of the Upsaroka, when Baptiste poinl'^d in si-
]en6e towards the prairie, and on following with
his eye the direction of his companion'!: nnger,
he saw a dusky object in motion. Looking
steadily forward, each with his finger on 'hp trig-
ger of his rifle, Reginald and Baptisir. could
now distinguish the figures of several ir^dians,
creeping alons^ the ground towards the thicket.
On a sudden the report of Atto's rifle in the op-
posite quarter was heard, and the creeping fig-
ures starting up, advanced with shouts and
yells, vainly hoping that the spot, which they
had seleciea for attack, was defenceless. When
they were wiUiin a few paces, Reginald and
Baptiste fired at once, ana the two leading In-
dians fell ; most of their companions retired in
dismay, one only sprung forward with desperate
courage, and his evil destiny bringing him close
past the log, behind which the Guide was post-
ed, the latter cleft the skull of the unfortunate
savage with his tremendous hatchet.

Maddened by disappointment, and by the loss
of several of their comrades, the Crows let fly a
shower of arrows, at the edge of the thicket,
and retreated on all sides, filling the air with
their cries and yells. Reginald, having crossed
over to visit Atto at his post, found that the Del-
aware had not fired in vain, for a reeking scalp
already hung at his belt, and it appeared thai
the enemy had retired on this side also, as soon
as they found themselves exposed to the murder-
ous fire of unseen marksmen.

Not long afler this unsuccessful attack on the
part of the Upsarokas, day broke, and having
mounted their horses, which had been lett at
some distance, they returned towards the en-
campment; and galloping to and fro, endeav-
oured, by every kind of insulting gesticulation,
to induce their cautious enemies to come forth,
or at least to exhaust their ammunition by firing

U8

THiB PAAlRIE^PilRiD.

At naadom ; bpt Reglaald's party tkeptQlo9« with*
n tbeir covert, t£k|p^ no notice whatever of
these bravadoes^ ^aUhoagh several of the horse-
men came within a distance which woc^ld have
rendered them an easy mark for the Guide's
mierring rifle; their insolence produced only a
grim smile on his weather-beaten countenanoe,
as he whispered to Reginald,

'*They are somewhat. out of their jeckoning
as to the 'Doctor's' range j poor devils, if they'll
idnly keep off, j dpn't want to hurt any more of^
.^lem I But if that long-haired fellowt caperi^
on a brown horse, were a Pahcotdh,i'd make a
hole in his hunting-^hift before hfi yf9fi many
minutes older."

" I am glad to fipd ypa in a inercifu} htMp^w.
Puptiste," replied the young man ; "I top woujd
willingly avoid larther siaqgluer of these Crows,
and while fighting wi.^h them we, are Iqsing tiq^
more precious to me tb^n j^oliJ*

As he w^s yet speaking, his attention w^s
caught by the sound of a ^u^ within the
thicket, ibUpwfd by a 9hQ^t, and immediately
afterwards AU6 and .anptlier Delaware came for-
ward, dragging with !them a Orow, whom the
3uick eye of .t^e former had detected lurkingim-
er the dense foliage of an aJderrhu3h.

"Whom Jl»ay« yon here 1" e^ciaim^d Jlegi-
nald ; ^' and wh,ere did you ^nd ji^im 1"

"tJpsaroka," replied Atto; '*he must have
crept tike a snak^ undei the grass, for the pela-
wares are not blind, yet he is herci"

The prisoner was a taJl^ bold-looking youth,
and he seemed reso^ute)^ prepaxed to meet ihe
fate which a spy and an enemy mast «x^ect in
that wild regiqn.

" 'Tis a Ipe lad," said Bartist|5, dryly, "and
he has given us a lesson to ki ep a better look
out; 'tis clear that he has crept down the hrook,
while we have been watching those ^srallopiog
thieves: tie t^e rogue's Jiands, xny friend Att5,
and let us scour the thicket from one end to the
other. Two pr three such as him withip the
camp, in the middle of the nighty wqM ^ apt to
intenere with pur rest/'

The prisoner having been bound, A4t6 pro-
ceeded with two of bis warriors to search drety
corner of the thicket, while Baptiste, with, the
remainder, watched ttie various parties of horse-
xnen who were sitiil hovering at a distance.

Reginald was left for a few minutes alone
with the youth, whom he lopped at with mingled
compassion and admiration, for it was clear that
he had devotpd ^is own li|e to obtain a triumph
for his tribe, and although he had Bot th^ ex-
pressive intellectual beauty of Win^genjund, nor
the heroic stamp of fprm and feature by which
'War-t^agle was distinguished, yet jthere was a
certain wild fierceness in his eye l>etokenipg a
spirit, that awakened a feeiling of sympathy in
Reginald's )i)reast. While looking steadfastly
on the youth, under Uie influence of these feel-
ingSi he ohseryed that the Dela wares, in ^ir
hurried an^ety to secure the prisoner, had
hound the thongs so tightly round his arms as to
cause a stoppaj^e of the blood, the ireins around
the ligature bemg already swpUeja to a pMiiAil

With the unhesitating generosity pf hi^ ma-
ture, Reginald steppe forward^ fAd loosoaing
the thong, left the youth at liberty ; ^ the same
time he smiled, and polntinff to Che knife in his
belt, made the sign of " I^o,'' intimating that he
tnould not repay this henefiit by ii^g that
Weapon.

The quick-sighted cav^we vfodmimdi^am ai
plainly as if the hint,had;he$n gii:e^ ifk ]^ awi
language, for he instaAtly detached t^ kn^
from his b^lt and presented it jp B^gioald.
There was so much natural dignity and sinceir-
ity in his manner while doing so, that aur lieso
in receiving his weapo|i, gave ihim in .exchange
a spare knife that hving m his own beit, maicing
at the same time the ^dian sign for friendship.

The nerves which were strung ,to endune ex-
pected torture and a lingering deathi were not
prepared for this unlooked-for , clemency ;,tiM
youth sppke a few soft wonls in his otwn tongue,
Ipokiqg earnestly in Reginald's iace, aad luad
inot yet^repovered his.selfpo^sseMiQn, whep Atio
^turip^d with his companions, to report that the
prisoner must have come upon this .dangerous
war- pat)i alone, as no other of^s tribe was lor^-
jng ija. or near the thicket

"Alto," said Reginald^ addresfttng Ibe Dela-
ware, "this youth belongs byj^^ totheiiand
that took him, he is youi?; I ask you to give
him to me, to do with him as i hkfi*

^*The hand andtthe heart of Atto are Ixnii
open to Netis; he is brother :to the war-d^ief of
the JLenap6^AUP is |^ad to give him whal he
asks."

"Atto is a hra¥0 man," ^replied Reginald,
i" at^ worthy of his race ; he caiu see that this
youth is on his fi^rst war-paith ; :he i?ame to the
camp to make himself a name; if the quidc
eye of Atto had npt found hinii there wouid
have been a war-^ry in the night— is it not ae^
brothers 1"

The Pelawaresgave i^ieir usmal exclamAUon
of assent.

"brothers/' continued Reginald, **Atto has
given ih>is ycmth to me— I thank him: ib^ hand
of Netis is not shUit, it hplds a cpJdar whicih hung
upon the neck pf a great warripr, it will Aot to
ashfimed to hang on the aeck siAUi^**

As he said this, be threw o^fer the nec^ o^ tfas
Delaware the magnificent bearrciaweoUar which
adorned his own. This was perhaps the hap-
piest moment of Attd's ilife, lor such a collai
>apttid ibe worn only by bfayes of the highest
^ank -in Indian Aris^oc^cy, and the ac^amation
with which bis comi^ades hailed the presentation
of t^e gift, assuned Reginald that it bad been
neither unwisely nor ,unwpirthily bestowed.

The latter then turned towards the prisoner,
and xaade him a sign to follow tpwards the out-
er edge qi the thicket, in the direction where
Baptiste and he bad shpt the two Indians who
led the ai,tack;. their bodies sstill,lay where they
fell ; the youth gassed upon them with stern com-
pqsure. l^inajd inquired by a sign if he knew
them; he replied in thea^mative; and he addf
ed, poifitin^ to the nearest of the two, a sign
which Reginald did not comprehend; he turned
to Atto lor an explanation.

" He B^ya/* replied the Peiawaie, <* that waa
his fatj^j^/'

^[ejg:ina}d, much afiected, r>laced the youth's
hand against his own breast m token of regard,
and made h.im vAderstand ^at he was f'-ee to
go himself, and to remove the bbdies wilht at in-
terruprion.

The young Crow replied hy a look of sratl
tude too expre^ive tp re^ipire the interffctatiov
fif language, and mpiing towards the hody of hia
father, bore it intp the midst of his wpoderina
ccuL^aLiGcs, Mihi leciivcd Um .with repeated
wailings and cries ; none, however, seemed disr
posed to belieye inhis assomifie thai (hey mlgh^

i

T9IB PE^IRIE^BIRD.

lid

«am away the ethm tody Ukewiiej he was
•I>bii9id 10 vHma hImaeU, «Dd tbeo one of his
'tribe, seeing that he sumxI nainjured beside it,
^eame oat from their ^ranbs and assisted him to
-bnrtt'oS:

CHAPTER XXXil

U oiMZMotad MMtinr*— l^fiMld prvpftrM to follow ih«

Trul.

Foa two days the baad of Crows hovered round
Iheencampmeikt, sometimes showing themsetves
tnithe adjaoent heights, at otbersdneiwin^ off to
a distance, ia^iopes of enticing some oi Regi-
nald's party to vemore into the open eountrv;
hat, aUnongh he himself clmfed and fretted like
aa impatient «teed, he was sensible of the risk
Ikat must attend any error or improdence while
la tiie neighbourhood of an enemy so crafty sad
«o sttong iu numbers, and he never permitted the
watchfulness of his little garrison to be relaxed
for a moment; the horses were driven to leed
«nder the guard of two armed Dela wares, and
were not seat to a distance whence their return
could be intercepted, and the watches were reg-
«larly set and relieved during the whole night.

On the third day the Crows, finding that all
itheir endeavours to draw their cautiousj enemy
from the covert were vain, hekl a council of war,
after which three or four of their principal chiefs
'approached the encampment, noraking, as they
'advanced, signs of amity and truce. Reginald
went out to meet them, accompanied by Baptiste
«nd Att^ leaving orders with the remainder of
ibis party to hold themselves in readiness against
my attempt at treachery. Halting at a spot not
•lore than eighty yards from the wood, he
awaited the Crow leaders, who came forward to
>meet him without aay apparent suspicion or
treacherous design.

They had taken the precaution to bring with
-them the youth to whom Reginald had already
ahown kindness, and whose presence they rightly
eonjecturad would facilitate the amicable nature
of their mission.

Reginald acknowledged with a smile the
'friendly greeting of his young prot^g^, and then,
drawing himsen up to his full height, awaited in
alienee the opening of the parley.

The Crow partisan* first glanced his keen eye
vrer the persons of those whom he was about to
address^ as if scanning them for the purpose of
ascertaming t^eir qualities and character, and
whether he should best succeed by endeavouring
lo circumvent or to overawe taem. Keen as
he was, his penetration wa» here at fault, ibr
idthongh no three persons coujc be more dis-
similar than those before a4tn, \et. wtiether taken
collectively or severally laev loottea Ji)re men
who would not be easily overreached ; his eye
first rested on the spare, sitir^vy frame and im-
penetrable countenance of Atto, thence it glanced
to the muscular frame and shrewd hard features
Df the Guide, and turning from them, it found but
little encouragement in the bright bold eye and
id&mmandhigform of Reginald Brandon.

Perceiving, with the iattKtive sagacky of an
Indian, that the kater was the leader of his party,
the partisan opened the parley by pointing his

lbgre>rmger at Reginald, and then pressing the

_ - 1 - - ■ — ■ - . „ ,

* la the tntrds of Mftjor Loskg, and othen, who have do-
«eribod cIm Indians of tfae far-weitern phuries, tlie ** brave"
Wlw badi ^ Wttvptity &i iiauaUy designkled a ''partiaait;'*

closed fi&fen against his own breast.; he then
pointed to himself with the same finger, and
afterwards stretching both arms horizontally,
moved them np and down with a vibrating uko-
tion, concludinjg; his pantomime by.again raising
theiibre-iinger of his right hand vertically to the
height of his forehead. Reginald, who could
not underaumd these Restures, turned to Attd^
saying, ** Does my brother know what the stran-
ger speaks 1 If so. let him eixplain."

'' Me says," replied the Delaware, ** that he
wishes to be friends with you; and be tells you,
\if the last signs, that he is an Upaaroka and «
chief."*

<* TeU him," said Reginald, "that if his heaft
>is true, and his tongue not jCbrked, we also wish
to be friends with htm and his people."

TheCnrwiepUed by making the conventional
aiga Im <<Qood," adding to it that for " Truth."

On this being explained to Reginald, the latter
desired Baptisie to bring from the camp some
t^cco, a p^, and a few trinkets for distribu-
tion among the Crows. On the return of the
Ooide, the whole party took their seats, Regi-
sald placing the |!artisan on his right, and the
young prisoner whom he had released on his
left. Afierihe pipe had been smoked wHh due
f^ravity and decorum, he divided among hia
guests some beads and other fanciful ornament^
according to itbeir rank, with which they seemed
highly delighted^; the chief in particular testified
his satisfaction by repeated gesticulations of
friendship and affection towards his white broth-
er, whom he invited to go and feast with him
and his braves. Thb invitation Reginald besged
leave to decline, but he desired Atto to explain to
his guest that he would visit him on some other
occasion.

While these civitities were passing between
the respective parties, a great commotion waa
observed among the Crows stationed on the
neighbouring bill, some of whom were seen gaK
loping to and fro, as if communicating some
onexpected intelligeace. The -partisan arose
and took his leave with courteous dignity, ex-
plaining by signs that he wished to ascertain
what was passing among his people.

As he withdrew, the youth, whose life Re^
nald had spared, turned his head and gave the
latter a look which he understood to convey a
warning, but it was so rapid that he could n^
feel assured that he had rightly construed its
meaning. Reginald remained for some time on
the spot watching the motions of the Crows, who
had now gathered in their scattered horsemen,
and were evidently awaiting with some impa-
tSence the Ktutn of their chief. Reginald's eye
was still fixed upon them, when Atto, pointi]U|
^ the eastward, whispered, " Men are comiagr

Turning his head in the direction indicated,
Reginald thought he perceived a moving object
in the distance.

«* I see something in that quarter, but not dia-
tinctly ; are you sure it is a party of men r*

"Sure." /

"Mounted, or on fixA 1' ^

*ft hai belbre iMen tteatumed, that mmmg iim miiiff
tribes ef (he grea' MisMMiiaa wiMernen every one sm ite
dietinotlve nationa. *i^ • these are well known .0 eaek
other, and lo white nu. ^ho tm e^cperieneed in ^ .Ifc df
the ihr>weet ; the sign aw. tieaed in the text is that «1 ofitsd
hf the Upsaxvkas, n they amend by the motion of their ex
tended arms to imitate tmct of the wings of a crow in fKgh^
The SiouXf Blaokfeet, i>awnees, Snakes, Aricams, Comitt-
ches, Ao.i have kll their distinctiire notional sinis ; but «i
•nttttenttiflii df them would be tedioiu end eat of place hen

V

130

THE PRAIRIB-BIRD.

"Both," replied the Delaware, without re-
ino\rijQg his bright keen eye from the object.
"They are upon our trail," he added; ** if they
are not friends, we had better return to the camp.

Mtanwhile Reginald nnslung his telescope,
and having at length brought it to bear upon the
advancing party, ne exclaimed, %

" By Heaven ! there are white men as well as
Inlians there, horses, and loaded mules !" '

** How many V inquired Baptiste.

"I'hey seem to me to be fifteen or twenty
strong. Should their intentions appear suspi-
cious, we are near enough to retire into our
camp: if they are friends, they will soon see us,
and approach without fear or hesitation."

The Guide shook^;his head as if distrusting all
new comers in that remote region ; but they were
within rifle-shot of the covert, and could, if ne-
cessary, retire thither under the protection of the
fire of those within it.

The Crows still hovered upon the summit of
the adjoining hill, and several minutes of breath-
less interest elapsed ere the approaching band
emerged from a hollow upon a point of the val-
ley, where they were now clearly distinguish-
able, and proved to be, as Reginald had said, a
mixed party of Indians and white men.

He was not aware that among the latter was
a telescope as good, and a horseman whdse eye
was more practised in the use of it than his own ;
that horseman galloped out in front of his band
and advanced at full speed to the spot where
Reginald stood, and almost before the latter
could rightly use his faculties of sight or speech,
that horseman flung himself from his horse, and
Reginald was in the arms of Ethelston.

There is nothing that stirs the heart to its very
depths, more than the meeting a friend ailer a
long separation; not such a friend as is found in
the ordmary intercourse of worldly society, but
a friend whom we really esteem and love, a
friend whom we have learned to cherish in our
bosom's core — this must have been felt by a41
(alas! they are not very many), who have de-
served ancl obtained such a blessing in life. How,
then, must these stirrings of the heart be increas-
ed if such a friend comes to our aid and comfort
when we thought him thousands of miles distant,
when we are in anxiety and peril, when he brings
us the latest tidings of our home I We will not
attempt to describe the meeting of the two long-
separated and loving friends under such circum-
8tanc«s, nor to relate one hundredth part of the
inquiries which each had to make and to reply to.

The reader is already in possession of the in-
formation which they had to communicate to
each other, and can easily understand how Ethel-
ston and his party, guided by the young Dela-
ware, had followed the trail on which they tiad
been preceded by the bands of Mah^ga and of
Reginald : the latter greeted with cordial pleas-
ure Paul Miiller, who now advanced to ofler
him his friendly salutation, while Pierre, Bap-
tiste, and Bearskin, who had weathered many
a stormy day by flood, and field together, inter-
changed, the grasp of their horny hands with un-
^Jfidisguised satisfaction.
T^^>«^ihe meeting between the two bands of the
l^^ares, there was less demonstration, but it
^ke doubted whether there " ds less excite-
as the last comers nar" ^(.ed to their com-
ides the bloody vengeance which they had taken
on some of their foes, and dilated upon that which
they anticipated in pursuit of Man^ga.

EtheUtons party being provided with some

coffee, sugar, biscuits, and other iuituries, whicli
had been long strange to Reginald's camp, the
evening of their arrival was devoted to a great
merry-making. Monsieur Perrot undertaking the
office of chief cook, and master of the Ceremo-
nies, both of which he executed with so mueh
skill and good-humour as to win the favour of
all present. In the midst of the feasting, the se«
curity of the encampment was pever endangered
by the omission of clue precautions, for the horses
were driven in and the sentries posted, as on the
preceding night, Reginald being well aware of
the treacherous character of his Crow neigh-
bours, and his suspicions aroused by the slight,
but significant look given to him at parting by
the youth whose life he had spared.

While they were seated round a blazing fire
enjoying the good cheer which Perrot had pro-
vided, Pierre, fixing his eyes upon the bear-claw '
collar worn by Atto, uttered an exclamation (A
surprise, and, springing from his seat, went \»
examine it closer; having done so, he pronounced
slowly and with emphasis a name as long as a
Sanscrit patronymic.

"What does that mean, Pierre 1" inquired
Ethelston, who had found in the latter a guide
of great shrewdness and experience.

" It is the name of the Upsaroka to whom that
collar belonged, in our tongue, ' The man whose
path is red.' I saw it upon his neck last year,
when I was at the post near the Upper Forks,
He came to trade with us for a few Knives and
blankets — he was a great war-chief, and had
killed more Black- feet than any man in his
tribe."

" Well, Pierre, his own turn is come now ; he
will kill no more Black-feet nor white mea
either," said Baptiste to his comrade.

"Did yonder Lenape kill him, and in fail
fight, man to man 1"

" He was killed in fair fight, man to man ; not
by Atto, but by a young war-chief whom the
Lenap6 call Netis," replied the Guide.

Pierre fixed his quick grey eye upon the ath-
letic figure of Reginald Brandon, who coloured
slightly as he encountered at the same time the
glance of Paul Miiller.

"It is true," he said, "I had foolishly separa-
ted myself from the rest of my party, I was in-
tercepted in attempting to return, and only esca-
ped paying the penalty of my carelessness by the
speed of my horse. The Crow chief was better .
mounted than the rest of his tribe, and as soon
as I paused to breathe my horse, he attacked and
slightly wounded me; in defending myself, I
killed him."

" My son," observed the Missionary, " he died
as he had lived, reckless and brave ; it rejoices
me to hear you speak of the deed as one of «ne-
cessity and self-preservation."

"I know not,'' muttered Pierre, "what he calls
necessity, but it's a fine feather in the youth's
cap, and our Delawares shall know it too."

One of the most remarkable features in the
character of this man, was the facility with which
he acquired the habits and languages of the dif-
ferent tribes, among whom his roving life had
thrown him ; moreover, he had the faculty of re*
membering with unerring certainty, any (a^ ot
spot, or tree, or path that he had once jgBpnr
that his services as guide and interprefli|^SKi%f
highly valued; and as Pierre, though a^'food- *
humoured fellow, was shrewd enough in matters
of business, he usually exacted, and had no di^
ficulty in obtaining a liberal remuneration frova -

THE PRAIBIE-BIRB

191

the riTal leaders of the far-trade companies: he
was tolerably well versed in the language oi the
Crows and the Black-feet, the two great nations
inhabiting the vast region between the upper
waters of the rivers Platte and Missouri ; and
there were few of the roving tribes upon either
bank of the latter, among whom he could not
make himself understood. As an interpreter, he
dealt fairly by his employer, although he hated
tke Black-feet, in consequence of a warrior of
that tribe having carried off an Indian beUe to
whom Pierre was paying his addresses. This
Dflence he had never forgiven, and it gave him
in all subsequent transactions a natural leaning
towards the Crows, the mortal and hereditary
foes of his successful rival's tribe.

While Pierre related in an under tone^ to those
Delawares of his partf who did not understand
English, the victory obtained over the great war-
chief of the Crows, by Reginald Brandon, the
latter kept up a long and interesting conversa-
tion with Ethelston, whom he found already in-
formed by the Missionary of his engagement to
Prairie-bird.

On this subject Reginald, who knew the pru-
dcBce of his friend's usual character, scarcely
expected his sympathy or concurrence : he was,
Aerefore, the more agreeably surprised, when he
S)iind him disposed to enter into all his plans for
(he recovery of his betrothed, with a zeal and
enthusiasm almost equal to his own.

*' The good Missionary," said Ethelston, " has
told me much of the early lile, as well as of the
character and qualities oi*^Pralrie-bird. I cannot
(ell you how deeply she has engaged my interest,
my own feelings towards your sister render me
capable of appreciating yours, and I pledge yon
my faith, dear Reginald, that I will spare neither
toU nor exertion, Boi*life itself, to aid you in this
precious search."

Reginald gl'asped his hand — there was no need
of WQftte (4* gratitude between them — and ere
Id^ bo^u^orned to consult with Paul Muller, as
to their further proceedings. After due deliber-
atbo, they agreed that on the following morning
&ey should pursue the trail, regardless of their
Crow neigh Dours, whom they had now little
caase to fear, and that previous to starting they
woald hold a council, at which Reginald should
propose the distribution ofctheir respective posts,
on the line of march, in'ihe event of their wish-
io? him to retain that of leader.

The night having passed without anv alarm,
Reginald summoned a general council of war
before daybreak ; as soon as they were assem-
bled, he told them through Baptiste, who acted
as interpreter, that they were now strong enough
to pursue the trail, without fear of interruption
from the Crows, and that if the latter were fool-
ish enough to make an attack, they would soon
have cause to repent it. He then added that
War-Eagle, their chief, being absent on the war-
path, it was necessary for some one to act as
leader until his return, and, as his party had
been joined by so many warriors of experience,
he would gladly place himself under the advice
and guidance of the man whom they might se-
lect.

When Baptiste had finished this speech, the
oMest warrior of Ethelston's party arose and
iaid, "Is it not true that War-Eagle, when he
vent, appointed Netis leader in his place V* A
nmrmur of assent came from the lips of Attd
and h^^ party. " Is it not true," continued the
Indian, ^* that Netis is a brave and skilful war-

rior 1 — one who need not be silent when the
braves strike the war-post 1 His heart is true
to the Lenap6, and he will tell them no lies."

" If the while men are content with Netis, the
Lenap^ wish no other leader. I have spoken."

As the scarred and weather-beaten warrior
resumed his seat, another and a general murmur
of approbation broke from the Delawares ; and
Ethelston having spoken a few words of simijar
import to the white men, Reginald ibund him-
self by universal acclamation chosen leader of
the pany.

After modestly thanking them for their good
opinion, his first act was to appoint Attd as guide
upon the trail, desiring him to select any two
whom he might wish to assist him, in the event
of its becoming forked, or otherwise difficult
to follow. Monsieur Perrot, with the provis-
ions, and loaded mules, occupied the centre
of the line of march, in which comparatively
secure post he was accompanied by Paul Mul-
ler, the main body of the hunters and the Delar
wares being distributed before and behind the
baggage.

For himself Reginald reserved the rear-guard,
where he retained Ethelston, Baptiste, and a
young Delaware, whom he might despatch upon
any emergency to communicate with the front.
He also appointed four* of the best mounted of
his men, two on each side of his party, to pro-
tect the flanks against any sudden attack, Pierre
being sent forward to render any assistance to
Atto that he might require.

These arrangements being complete, and
made known to the respective parties, they were
about to set forth on~their journey when Atto in-
formed Reginald, that the Crow youth was com-
ing swiftly across the valley towards the en-
campment, nursued at a distance by several
horsemen or his tribe ; the lad was riding one of
the swiftest and most untamed of the wild horses
with which that region abounds, yet he had nei-
ther bridle nor saddle, guiding the animal with
a leather thong, which be had thrown round its
nose, and urging it to its utmost speed with a
bow which.he held in his right hand. A few
minutes brought the foaming little steed an4 its
rider to the edge of the thicket, where the latter,
still holdino^ the leather thong, stood in silence
before Reginald j his eyes were literally spark-
ling with indignant rage, and he did not even
deign to look behind him to see whether hia
pursuers approached ; the latter, however, did
not choose to venture near the encampment,
but as soon as they saw that he had gained
its shelter, they gave a few loud and discord-
ant yells, and disapjpeared behind the hill.

The services of Pierre were now put into re-
quisition ; and as soon as the youth found an
ear that could understand his tale, he told it
with a rapidity and vehemence, that showed
the strong excitement of his feelings ; the story,
as interpreted by Pierre, was briefly thus :
' "The youth was present on the preceding
day at a war-councfl, where t^e Crows propo-
sed a plan for inveigling the White men to a
feast, and then attacking them unawares, at the
same time desiring him to use the favour that he
had found in their eyes, as an additional means
for entrapping them : this be positively refused
to do, and boldly told the assembled chiefs, that
their counsels were wicked and treacherous, and
that he would in no wise aid or abet ther^." In-
dignant at this remonstrance from a stripling,
the partisan had ordered him to be whipped se-

a93

TH« PJtA^iRIC^BIitq.

'▼«rely with tiioi^gs, and to be tied band and foot;
the sentence was executed with the utmost
cruelty, but he had eontcived early in the mom-
' ing to slip off his bands, and springing t« his
feet, he seized the fleetest horse (belonging to the
partisan, and leaping on its back, gallopea off to
warn his protector against the meditated tPeach-
fry.

The truth of the tale required no confirma-
tion, for the glow of resentment burned too fierce-
ly 1.1 his eye to be dissembled, and, the light cov-
ering of antelope skin which he had thrown
across his shoulders, was saturated with his
blood. Reginald's finst natural impulse was to
punish the perpetrators of this outrs^, but he
checked it when he remembered the magnitude
of the stake that bound him to the trail : " Tell
him, Pierre," said he, " that I thank him for his
•ingle tongue, and 1 love him for his honest
brave heart. Ask him if there is anything that
I can do for him."

'< Nothing," replied the youth to this question;
'^tell him that I have warned him against the
forked tongues of my tribe, because he gave me
my life, and was good to me, but I must not for-
get that his hand is red with my father's blood.
The day is very cloudy ; the Great Spirit has

S'ven a hard task to the son of the fallen chief;!
s back is marked like the back of-a slave ; he
has lived long enough."

The voice of the vouth faltered as he pro-;
nounced the last words; the thong dropped from:
his feeble grasp, and as he fell to the ground,
the wi}d\ horse broke away and galloped across
the valley. " He is dying,**' said Reginald, bend-
in^g over him ; " see, here below his hunting shirt
is the broken shaft of an arrow^ which one of ,
his pursuers has shot with too true an aim."
While he spoke the young Crow breathed iiis
JISL

CHAPTER XXXIII.

fiiiewiBf bow WingBunnd fated in th» OnipB Camp, and
; Am bsue of the Uilenuna i« wbich Pmhe-biiu wae
plaoed by Mah^iga.

Wfi trust that the compassionate reader is
now desirous to learn something more of the
fate of Prairie-bird and her unfortunate brother
Wingenund, whom we left a prisoner in the
hands of the merciless chief of the O^ages. For
a long time after the latter left her tent, his part-
ing threat rune in her ears, that she must on the
morrow give her consent to be his bride, or by
her refusal consign Wingenund to a cruel and
lingering death. Her busy imagination por-
trayed in vivid colours the scene of torture, and
the heroic fortitude with which she knew he
woukl endure it, and as she turned from that

Eieture, the figure of Reginald Brandon rose to
er view, as if upbraiding her with the violation
of her plighted troth; torn by these contending
struggles, the poor girl sobbed convulsively, and
the tears forced their way through the fingers
with which she in vain endeavoured, either to
suppress or conceal them. Lita threw her arms
round ber mistress'^ neck, and strove by her af-
fectionate, yet simple endearments, to soothe her
grief; fer a long time they proved unsuccessful,
tMit when at last she whispered,

" The Great Spirit is very good; he is strong- ]
er than Mahega,>t Prairie-bhxl «peak with him
as ^le often 4id when (he Black Father was
with her."

"True, Lita,** she rmlicd, looking jcatdnlfy

at the Comanche girl tnrough her tears; **jou
remind me of what I ought not to have forgot-
ten."

The next moment saw lier prostrate upan
her couch— ^the book of comfort in her hand, and
her earnest prayers ascending toward Heavon.

She rase from her devotions with a calmed
and stienthened spirit ; the first result of which
was a desire to converse with Wingenund, and
to decide with him upon the morrow's fearful
alternative.

Mah^a willingly consented to the intervieW|
justly believing that it would rather forwam
than retard his plan for compel ling ber con.<%ent,
compared with which the boy's life weighed not
a feather in the balance, so he ordered him to-be
conveyed to her tent ; and the guards who con-*
ducted him having informed her that if she un-
bound his hands, he would be instantly seized
and removed, they retired to the aperture, await-
ing the termination of the meeting with their
habitual listless indifference.

Prairie-bird cared not wheihei: (hey listenecL
as she spoke to her young brother in English, of
which abe knew that they imderstood little 40jr
nothing.

"Dear Wingenimd,''/6he said, "you heard the
threat uttered by that savage, after he struck
youl" ,

"I did."

"Is there no device or means by which we
can contrive vour escape; we may trust the
Comanche girl?"

"I do not see any," replied the boy, calmly;
"the eyes of the Osage chief are open, the hands
of .his warriors are many and ready. It does not
matter; War-Eagle and Netis will be here soon,
then all will go well."

"All well!" said Prairie-bird, shuddering.
" Enow you not that to-morrow I must consent
to be the wife of th^ Osage, or be the cause and
the witness of my brother's horrible death 1"

Wingenund looked at her with unieigned sur-
prise.

" The daughter of Taraenund — the Prairie-
bird sent by the Great Spirit, from an unknown
land, to dwell among the lodges of the Lenap6
— she who has learned all the wise words of the
Black Father — ^she to become the wife of thai
wandering wolf I Can niy sister's heart beat to-
wards him 1"

" Heaven knows how I loathe and dread himl
worse than the most poisonous snake in tba
prairie."

" I thought so," he replied. '" And how oughi
a wife to teel towards the man whom she mar<
ries r

" To feel that he is the joy, the food, the treas-
ure of her heart ; the object of her secret thoughts
by day, of her dreams by night; that when she
prays to Heaven his name is on her lips; thai
she' loves him as — as — "

"As Prairie-bird loves Netis,** said Winge-
nund, smiling. The conscious girl blushed at
the impasMoned eagerness into which her feel-
ings had betrayed her, but she did not aitompt
to deny her brother's conclusion, and he con-
tinued, more gravely, "Then my sister coa.d
pot be the wife of the Osage without leading a
life of misery and falsehood. No, no," he add-
ed, his bright eye kindling as he spoke; "let to-
morrow come; Wingenund Is ready; he will
show that woli how the Lenap6 die. Let to-
morrow 4»me, and Mah^a shall learn th^

THi: P'|lAIlBI«.BfJ»'P.

Its

l^ii^imQd 4<^pi0e8 his hate as tnacfa ,«s Pvai-
jdjt-biixl scoras his lave. My si^ur, I hay« spo-
len it The deeds of my fathers aie beiore my
eyes; the blood of, the, ancient peojple is in aiy
veins; words cannot change nc^ mind. Face-
v<U! and when yoa see War-Eaglt and:i<^etis,
tell theoi that the Washashe fire drew neither
complaint nor cry from the lips of Wingennnd."
As he spoke, his agonized sister looked ap in
ais face, and read bat too plainly the high, un-
conquerable determination l^ibLv stamp^ upon
its proud, expressive features. She saw that the
instinctive leelings of his race had triumphed
over all the gentler impressions which she and
the Missionary had endeavoured to implant;
and, koowini^ that now she might as well at-
tempi to bend a stubborn oak as to efieot any
change in his resolution, she embraced him jp
^ence, and suffered the Os^ge guards to lead
him from the tent.

aeen beiiog, under .which impession she ap
jMToached, and asked, timidly,

" Has Olitipa seen a Good spirit, -and ha.Tu
h^r ears. drunk words of comfort 1"

"OUtipfl has received words of comfort," re-
plied her mistress, kindly; "they seem to lier
.words from Heaven ; she trusts that she may
not be deceived; she will address her eveniot
prayer ,to the Great Merciful Spirit above, ana
retire to rest, at least to such rest as it may be
His will to give her."

For many hours aAer Prairie-bird had been
stretched jupon her furry couch did her ihoughia
dweU upon 'the «olar eclipse, Jiow the founda-
tion of lier hopes ; she remembered how the
Missionary bad explained to her that it waa
visible at one hour in one part of the earth, at a
different hour in another part ; then she won-
dered whether at the spot where she Of iw was it
would be seen sooner or later than at Philadel-
Composing herself by a strong effort of ael/Sphia. This doubt her science could not resolve,

command, Prairie-bird .revolved in her min
Tarious schemes for saving the We of her devo-
ted brother: tme aller ^another she considered
and rejected, until at length the idea occurred to
her that perhaps she might contrive to work
spoa the superstitious feai? of Mah^. With
thb view she examined carefuUjr all her slender
itock of instruments and cuiiosities-^the novelty
of the burning-glass was past, the ticking of the
watch given to her by Paul Miiller, though it
might surprise the Osage, could not be expected
to alarm, or induce bim to abandon his deter-
minatioD. Then she cast her despairing eyes
Upon the few volumes which formed her travel-
ling hbrary ; among these her attention was ac-
(^entaliy directed to the almanac which the
|ood Father tiad brought to her from the settle-
Ibents, when he gave her the watch, and she
lighed whea $he thought how otilen she had
ainased herself in the spring, comparing them
together, calculating the lapse of time, and the
changes of season which they severally announ-
ced. Her observation of the sabbaths had been
most punctual, nor had It been interrupted by
the toils and privations of the journey, so she
had DO difficulty in finding the week or the day
then passing. " Julv," she exclaimed, reading
^> herself .half aloud, ^ only iwo weeks of this
lad month are yet past; methinks they se^nn
K^ore like fourteen n^onths than fourteen dajrs!
oee hei;e, too, on the (^posite leaf, prophecies
legar^ing wind and weather. How ciilen would
the dear Father point these out to me, and strive
Ki exjplain the wonderful terms in which they
4a^cnbe ihe jmiovemeuts of the stars: he was
V^ patient, but >they were too hard lor n>e ; I
9m au£e he tried to make me understand these
•telUMe words, * A|»helion,' * Apofl[ee,' * Perigee,'
hat, if he ever succeeded, I have loxgotten it all.
What is this notice in laiger letters ? To-mor-
^w,io.;norrow, it Sttands written, ' Total eclipse
Of the sun, yis^Ue at PhUadeloWa 9h. ma^-^
sorely, surely it will he visile here too. I will
trast to it, I will build my faith upon jt, and
WiDgenoad?s life shall yet be saved.*' Bo say-
iag, she clasped her )»auds ^gether, aAd her
lovely countenance beamed wilh re^-awakened
km.

Lita, who had beep watching her mistress
^iih affectionate aoliaxude, and listening with
childish wander to her haif-uttered aoiiloquy,
vas overcome with surprise at this sudden
Jhaa^ in her demeanour; she thought that
Praine-bird had beea conversing with soma uo-

and it held her long in anxious suspense; but
ovecweatied nature at leneth claimed her rights,
and she sank into an uncelreshing dreamy slum^
her, in which the images of Wingenund, Ma^
h^., and .Reginald Brandon weee stalking cour
fusedly oTer an eclipsed and darkened regioa
of earth.

£arly loa the foUowmg moming, Mahiga,
who had resolved not to lose this favourable op*
portuni^ for working upon Ihe fears of Prairie-
oird, caused a pile of ciry branches of wood to
be ^oed iounu a tme, which stood nearly op-
posite to her tent, to which he ordered winae-
nund to be secured with thongs of bison-hide ;
after w^ich he and his warriors seated them-
aeilves in a semicircle before ^eir victim, pass-
ing the pipe deliberately from mouth -to mouih,
as if to enjoy his suspense and terror.

if auch was their object, it met with little sue*
Qe8S,for the young i>elaware, in the brightest
day of bis youth and freedom, had never worn
so proud and loft^ an air as that which now sat
enjUiroQed upon his brow.

** A thousand warriors of the I^nape, whose
blood is in mv veins, have gone before roe to
the happy fields; they knew not fear, and I, the
last ofineir children, will bring no shame imoa
their race. When I come they will say, ' Wei*
come, Wingenund!' and beiore many winters
and summers are passed, War-Eagle and Netis,
Prairie-bird and the Black Father, will join me.
and the blue eyes of the Lily of Mooshanne will
be there also, and we wiU dwell in a land of
streams and flowers, of numberless deer and
abondaal com, uikvexed by cold, or want, or
pam.^

Such was the vision that rose before the men-
tal eye of the vouth, and so completely was he
engmsed by K, fthait be took not die slightest
notice of the group assembled to put him to a
slow and agonizing death.

Meanwhile Prairie-bird having nrayed ear-
nestly to Heaven to support her, and pagkn* the
deceit which she was abom to practise, diessjed
herself wilh OMare than usual caire, and coming
forth from her twi, stood before Mah^ with a
dignity ef demeanour, to the efl^t of which even
his fierce and intractable aaiare was not insen-
sible. He Tom not, however, at her approach,
but cQotenUfd himself w^ inquiring, ** Hai
Olitipa come to aave her brodKrs life, or to kill
him r

" Keiths/ replied the maiden firmly ; << she it
come to give good counsel to Mah^a; let ' '
beware how he neglects itl"

kM

THE PRAIRIE-BIRIX

*' Let not Olitipa's speech travel in circles,"
laid the angry cnief. ''Mah^ga has said that
this day she should consent to be his wife, or she
mast see that feeble boy burned before her eyes,
— tber^ are but two paths, — which does Olitipa
ehoose Y*

** The feet of foolish men often wander where
there is no path at all," replied Prairie-bird ; and
she added, with solemnity, pointing upward to
Heaven: "There is only one path and one
Guide, the Great Spirit who dwells above!"

Those of the Osages who were familiar with
tie Delaware tongue in which she was speaking,
aooked at each other, as if wondering at her
words, but Mah^ga, whose passion was only in-
creased by her exceeding beauty, answered ve-
hemently,

"It is easy for Olitipa to talk and to make
children believe that her words are those of the

full confidence of anticipated triumph, sur.ouoa*
ed by his warriors, ifrho, less sceptical, or more
superstitious than their chief, looked and Jtsteii-
ed, ezpnecting some confirmation of the last words
of Prairie-bird.

Although the sun could not be opposite the
rock which she h|d pointed out for nearly three
hours, of which not a fourth part had yet elaps-
ed, the anxious girl began to imagine that hope
was at an end. Visions of future degradation
an(| misery shot through her brain; she tore
from her not brow the fillet that confined her
hair, which floated in glossy luxuriance over
her shoulders. The reproaches of Reginald
Brandon run? in her ears. The loathed em-
brace of Mah^ga crept over her shuddering
frame! At this crisis her eye fell upon the
handle of the sharp kn^e concealed in her bo-
som : she drew it forth : the triumph of the pow-

Great Spirit — Mah^ga is not a child." ^ ^ rs of Evil seemed at hand, when a cry of^sur-

" If he compare nis strength with that of th^prise and terror from Lita recalled her wander-
Great Spirit," said the maiden boldly, " Mah*-'*"*' c«»nc*e «»»*> anfonAr ♦« th» a.^^* vi^iuu

ga's is less than the least finger of a child. Who
can tell the power of the Great Spirit 1 The
strong wind is his breath,— the thunder is his
voice, the sun is his smile. If He is angry, and
withdraws the sun, day is turned into night —
darkness and fear dwell in the hearts of men."

The energy of her language and manner were
not altogether without their efiTect'even upon the
stem nature of Mah^ga ; nevertheless, h^ replied,

"These are but the notes of singing-oirds.
Mahcga waits for the choice of Olitipa, — ^she
becomes his wife, or the fire is kindled at the
feet of Wingenund."

Prairie-bird cast an anxious glance athwart
the blue vault above; not a cloud was in the
sky, and the sun shone with the full brightness
of an American July. She would not yet aban-
don hope, but, making a strong and successful
efifdrt to maintain her composure, she said in a
firm, impressive tone, " Mah^, let there be a
bargain between us ; you seek Olitipa for a wife ;
if it be the will of the Great Spirit, she will sub-
mit, and her brother's life will be spared; but if
the Great Spirit is displeased, and shows his an-

fer by drawing a cloak over the face of that
right sun in the heavens, Mah6ga will obey his
will, and let the brother of Olitipa go away un-
hurt. Is Mah6ga content that it shall be so V*

" He is," replied the chvf, "if the sign be such
as he, and the Osage warriors nay look upon
with wonder; not a miri or dark cloud."

" It will be such as /PiJ make Mah^a trem-
Ue" replied the maid ij with di^Uy, " Warri-
ors of the Washashc you havo hesid the treaty.
Before the sun has reached yon 'western peak,
the answer of the fl/cat Spirit will bo known."
Having thus spol^f a, she withdrew into the tent,
leaving the Osag.'i gazing upon each other with
undisguised awn and amazement

The maiden i^j.ew herself upon her couch in
an agony of m spense, greater th^n can be de-
scribed t It ^jfBs terrible to think that her every
hope of escF;ping from the dreadful alternative,
was staked *ipon a sentence in an almanac, of
lhecorrec^)3S8 of which she had not the slight-
est power to judge. Even the well-intentioned
attempts ^t eonsolation made by her affectionate
Lita, we e of no avail; her unhappy mistress
entreated her to remain at the door of the tent,
and ref ^rt whatever might occur ; within and
wither ( a profound stillness reigned. The pris-
oner ' (ooa motionless by the sapling to which
Ae was bound ; Mahdga smokoii nis pipe in the

mg senses. She sprang to the door; visible
darkness was spreading over the scene, and the
terrified Osages were looking upward to the par-
tially obscured disk of the sun, over the centre
of which an 6pa(^ue cireular body was spread ;
a brilliant rinp: being left around its outer ridge.*

Prairie-bird gazeS upon the wondrous spec-
tacle like one entranced; the late fearful strug-
gle in her breast had given a supernatural lustre
to her eye ; her frame was still under high ner-
vous excitement, and as, with long hair floating
down her back, she pointed with one hand to
the eclipsed sun, and with the other to Mah6ga,
well might the savage imagine that he saw be-
fore him a Prophetess whose will the Spirit of
Fire must obey. Under the influence of awe
and dread, which be strove in vain to conceal,
he moved forward and said to her, " It is enough!
let Olitipa speak to the Great Spirit that the
light may come again."

The sound of bis voice recalled the mind of
Prairie-bird to a consciousness of what had
passed. She answered not, but with a gesture
of assent motioned to him to withdraw, and sup-
porting herself against one of the trees that grew
in front of her tent, she knelt beside it, and veil-
ing her face in the redundant tresses of her hair,
found relief in a flood of tears. Overwhelmed
by a sense of the merciful interposition by which
she and her brother had been saved, and by a
feeling of deep contrition for the sudden impulse
of self-destruction to which, in a moment of
mental agony, she had yielded, she thought nel«
ther of the continuance nor the withdrawing of
the dark phenomenon of external nature, but of
the evil gloom which had for the time eclipsed
the light of grace in her heart, and the tears
which bedewed her cheek were tears of mingled
penitence and gratitude.

Still, Nature held on her appointed course;
after a few minutes the moon passed onward in
her path, and the rays of the sun, no longer in-
terceptea, again shed their brightness over earth
and sky.

The Osages, attributing these effects to the
communing of Prairie-bird with the Great Spirit,

* It it nnneoMnrj to inform the reader that neither tlM
date nor the deacription of thia aolar eclipae ia intended ta
cballenffe acientifie critidam. Merely the general featorat
are mreaerved of that kind ni aolar eclipae, which ia term*
ed " annabu-/* and which takea place when the ecUpae^
though central, ia not total, on aoooont of the moon not be-
ing near enough to hide the whole of the aun, in whiob
caae part of the lattor ia aeen aa a bright ring round the
wit hidden bj'the moon.

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

195

Stood in silent awe as she arose to retire to her
IBQt, and her secret humiliaiion became, in their
eyes, her triumph.

Mah%a, finding that he had no pretext for re-
fasmg to release Wiugenund, and (hat his war-
liors e7idently expected him to fulfil his prom-
ise, ordered the youth to be unbound; and m the
kight of his generositVi desired that some food
might be offered to him, which Wingenund
scornfully rejected.

The Osage chief having called aside two of
those most devoted to him, spoke to them. a few
words apart: and then addressing his liberated
prisoner in the Delaware tongue, he said, " The
Osage warriors will conduct Wingenund two
boars on his journey ; he will then be free to go
vhere he likes, but if he is again found skulk-
ing round the Osage camp, nothing shall save
his life."

Wingenund knew^ that he was to be turned
loose in a desolate region, unarmed and half-
starved, but his proud spirit would not permit
him to ask the slightest boon of his enemy; and
without a word of reply, without even directing
a look towards his sister's tent, he turned and
followed his conductors.

For several miles they pursued the back-foot*
of the trail b^ which they had come from the
eastward, Wingenund being placed in the cen-
tre without weapon of any kind, and the two
Osages marching one before, and the other be-
hind him, being well armed with bow, knife, and
tomahawk. The ^outh, unconscious that they
had secret instructions from Mah%a to kill him
as soon as they reached a convenient and suffi-
ciently distant spot, made no attempt to escape,
but walked quietly between them, considermg
within himself whether he should endeavour to
rejoin his party, or persevere in hovering in the
neighbourhood of the Osages; if a suspicion of
Mah^a's treachery did cross his mind, he al-
lowed it not to influence his bearing, for he
moved steadily forward, not even turning his
head to watch the Osage behind him.

About five or six miles from Mah6ga's camp.
the trail passed along the edge of a low wood
which skirled the banks of the same stream that
flowed through the upper valley. This was the
place where thev proposed to kill their prisoner,
and hide his boay in the bushes, the chief hav-
ing commanded that the murder should be kept
secret from the rest of his party. They had just
passed a thicket on the side of the trail, when
the terrible battle-cry of War-EIagle rose behind
tbem, and his tomahawk clove the skull of the
Osage in the rear. Ctuick as thought, Winge-
nund sprang upon the one in front, and pinion-
ed his arms ; the Osage tried in vain to disen-
gage them from the grasp of his light and active
opponent. Brief was the struggle, for the dead-
ly weapon o{ the Delaware chief descended
again, and the second Osage lay a corpse upon
the trail.

The brothers, having exchanged an affection-
ate but hasty greeting, took the spoils from their
enemies according to Indian fashion, War-Eagle
contenting himself with their scalps, and his
brother taking such weapons and articles of

, ** When WHnil is made bj a puty on a march, the gran
>> of coaiae, trodden down in the tame direction as tluit in
^hich they are goiiig. A party travelUng along it firom
wopponte qnarter, are said to take the back-foot of the
niL The author heard the expression need by an ezperi-
caeed Western hunter, bat is not aware whether it is in
nnimon nse ; at all stents it ezpUdns its own meaning sig^
ftificasdy enough.

dress as his present, cenditlon rendered necessa-
ry for his comfort and defence} after which,
they threw the two bodies into the thicket into
which the Osages had intended to cast that of
Wingenund, and continued their course at a
rapid rate towards the eastward, War-Eagle re-
lating as they went the events which had brought
him so opportunely to the scene of action ; they
were briefly as follows :

When he leil his part^, he never halted nor
slackened his speed until he saw the smoke of
the Osage camp-fire ; concealing himself in the
adjoining wooa, he had witnessed all the sur-
prising occurrences of the day ; and in the event
of the Osages actually proceeding to set fire to
the faggots around Wingenund, he was pre-
pared to rush upon them alone, and either res-
cue his brother or perish with him ; but, with
the true self-command and foresight of an In-
dian, he kept this desperate and almost hopeless
attempt for the last chance; and when to his
surprise and joy he saw the prisoner sent upon
the trail with a guard of only two Osages, he
took advantage of a bank of rising ground, be-
hind which he crept, and moving swiftly forward
under its shelter, gained unperceived the thicket,
where he had so successfully waylaid them.

Fearing a pursuit, the brothers never abated
their spe^ throughout the evening, or the early
portion of the night. A few hours before dawn,
some scattered bushes near the path ofiTering
them a precarious shelter, they lay down to
snatch a short repose ; a mouthful of dried bison-
meat, which remained in War-Eagle's belt, he
gave to his exhausted brother ; and one blanket
covering them both, they slept soundly and un-
disturbed until the sun was high in heaven.

CHAPTEk XXXIV.

Mah^ga finds the Bodies of his two Followers slain by Wat
Eagle. — Some ReflectioDS on Indian Character. — War
Eagle returns to his Friends, and the Osage Chief push>
es his Way farther into the Moontains.

Mahega waited anxiously the return of the
two men whom he had sent with Wingenund,
being desirous to learn whether they had faith-
fully executed the treacherous commission with
which he had entrusted them. When he found
that the evening passed away, and that the suc-
cessive hours of the night brought no intelligence
of them, he became alarmed lest they should
have fallen in with some hostile band of Indians,
an occurrence which, in addition to the loss of
two of his warriors, would threaten immineofi
danger to his whole party.

At the earliest peep of dawn he set out in
search of them, accompanied by three of his fol-
lowers, giving orders to the remainder to observe
a strict watcn during his absence. Traversing
the little yalley in from of his camp with hasty
strides, he struck into the eastward trail, and
followed it with unabated speed until he reached
the spot where the deadly struggle of the prece-
ding evening had arisen. Here the indications
were too evident to leave a moment's doubt upon
his mind ; the grass on and beside the trail was
stained with blood, and from the neighbouring
thicket were heard the snarls and yelU of a pack
of wolves quarrelling over their horrible oan-
quet; while hifi^h in air several buzzards were
wheeling round and round, as if endeavouring
to find courage to descend and depute the prer
with the quadruped spoilers.

126

THE PRAIRIE'^SlffDl

Dashing into the thicket^ and driving the snarl-
ing wolves before him, Mahega ibund his worst
fears realized, and his horror-struck warriora
stood in silence beside the mangled remains of
their comrades. The conduct of Indians under
such circumstances is uncertain and various as
their mood, their impulse, their tribe, and their
age. Sometimes they indulge in fearflil threats
•f vengeance ; sometimes in the most wofufl
bowlings and lamentations ; at others, they 9b-
serve a silence as still as the death which they
are contemplating.

The Osa^es, on this occasion, following the
exi^mple or their leader, spoke not a word, al-
though the sight before them (far too horrible
for description) was sufficient to try the strong-
est nerves ; it was chiefly by the immoveable
firmness of his character, that Mahega had gain-
ed and maintained the despotic influence which
he exercised over his followers ; neither did it
fail him on this occasion, for he proceeded to
examine the mutilated remains of nis deceased
Warriors with his usual coolness and sagacity,
in order that he might discover by whom the
ieed had been perpetrated ; on a close inspec-
tion of the skulls, ne found that both had been
fractured by a tomahawk blow, which had fall-
en in a direction almost vertical, but rathelr at a
posterior angle of inclination, whence he imme-
diately inferred that they had been killed by
vome enemy who hid surprised and attacked
ihem from l^hind, ard not in an open fight; af-
ter a long and careful observation of the frac-
tures he was of opinion that they were made by
the same weapon. This inference, however, he
kept to himself, and directing two of his follow-
ers to pay such ofii3^ to the dead, as were pos-
sible under the circumstances, and then to return
to the camp, he went forward with the remain-
ing Osage, to satisfy himself as to the manner in
which the calamity had occurred ; he remem-
Dered to have seen Wingenund starting on the
trail, and although he knew him to be bold and
active, he could not for an instant entertain the
belief that a stripling, wearied with a sleepless
sight, stiff from being so many hours bound
with thongs, and totally unprovided with arms,
eould have killed his two guards, who were
ftrong, wary, and well-armed men!

For some distance Mah6ga continued his
course in moody silence, the beaten trail afibrd-
ing no indication sufficient to guide him in his
eonjecture, but at length he reached a place
where it crossed a small rivulet, the fiat banks
of which were sprinkled with a kind of gravelly
sand ; here he paused and examined every inch
of the ground, with the eye of a lynx, nor was it
long before he detected the foot-prints which he
sought, a smaller and a greater, the latter shew-
ing longer intervals and a deeper impression.

Rising from his stooping scrutiny, the eyes of
the chief glared with furv, as he turned to his
follower, and in a voice almost inarticulate with
rage, groaned the hated name of War-Eagle.

'*It is,'* he continued vehemently, ** plain as
Aie moon in the sky^ the trail of the cursed Le-
<yp6, and the light root of "his brother ; see here.
War-£agle has walked through the water, and
Wingenund has sprung over it, the dew has
fallen since they passed, they are far before us —
but Mahega must not sleep till their sealps are
in his belt Is Toweno ready T* inquired the
fierce chief, tightening his girdle whife he loos-
ened the tomahawk suspended from it.

•'Toweno is readyf'^iepHed the Indian, <4o

fight or run' by the side of Mah^ from
ing until night ; his hand is not weak nor are
feet slow ; but the Great Chief must not let
angiy spirit bring a cloud before his' eyes;'*

** Let Toweno speak," said Mahega control*-
ling his fierce impatience, " his words will find a'
path to open ears."

" War-Eaglef," pursued the Osage, " is swift of
foot and cunning as a twice-trappM wolf He
is not come upon this far war-path alone. Win-
genund has been prowling round the camp, and
while ^ah^ga follows the ttail of War-Eagle,
the youth may guide the pale-face warrior called
Netis, with his band, to the encampment of the
Washashe. Toweno has need of no more
w:ords."

Mah^ea saw in a moment the truth and force
of his follower's suggestion, and smothering for
the moment his passion for revenge, he resolved
to return at once to his encampment.

"The counsel of Toweno is good," said he;
** when a friend speaks, Mah6ga is not deaf."

Among the features that distinguish the char-,
acter of the North American Indian, there is
none more remarkable, none more worthy the
study and the imitation of civilized man, than
the patience and impartial candour with which
they listen to the advice or opinion of others:
although so prone! to be swayed by passion ana
governed by impulse, the Indian seems to have
a wonderful power of laying aside these predis-
positions, when discussing a matter pnvately
with a friend, or openly in council. The deco-
rum with which all their public discussions are
conducted, has been observed and recorded by
every writer familiar with their habits, from the
time of Charlevoir, and of the interesting*' Let*
tres Edifiantes," to the present day. Golden,
Tanner, Mackenzie, and many others who have
described the Northern tribes, concur in bearing
their testimony to the truth of this observation;
Heckewalder, Loskiel, Smith, Jefii^rson, confirm
it in the central region; and the Spanish writers
bear frequeitt witness to 'it in their descriptions
of Uie Southern tribes, whom they met with in
their campaigns in Florida, and the adjacent
country. In reading the account given of the
numerous tribes inhabiting the vast region be-
tween the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains,
bv Clarke, Lewis, Long, and others, the same
observation forces itself upon us almost at every
page, and it is the more remarkable when we
reflect upon two fhcts — first, that we find this
characteristic attributed to forty or fifty different
nations inhabiting a continent larger than En-
rope, bv the concurring testimony of travellers
from different countries, and holding the most
opposite opinions.

secondly, we do not find a similar character-
istic distinguishing other savages, or nomadic
tribes in Asia, Africa, or the Pacioc Islands.

There is not a public body in Europe, ftom
the British Parliament down to the smallest
buigh meeting, that might not study with advan-
tage the proceedin«fs of an Indian council,
whether as described in the faithful pages of the
German missionaries, or, as it may still be seen bf
any one who has leisure and inclination to rim
these remote regions, where the India# charao>
ter is least changed and costaminated br inter-
course with the whites. Such an obsenrer
would find his attention attracted to two remark-
able facts;, first, that no speaker is ever intecw
nmttd$ and, secondly, that only those speak'
who from age, rank, and deeds, are entitled to '
briisientdia

T»E PR4.IIMB-fiIRDi

Wt

Is

19 a pofmiar a&d plausible reply to say that
iions coaceraitig the complicated business
f jfreat conmrT) oanaot be carried on like the
Limportam " talks" of these savage tribes; this
leasonlDg is shallow and fbll of sopbistiy, for
many of the Indian councils above rttferreid to
have involved ail the dearest inteiests of the na-
tion } thdr soil, their pride, their ancestral tradi-
tions, all were at stake, perbape all with little
more than a nominal altemativOj to be bartered
for the grasping «4iite man's beads, whiskey,
and snbsidies. In these councils, every listening-
lodian must have felt that his own home, the
lodge built by his f^her, and the patch of maize
cnltifuted by his family, were dejoendent on the
issue of the Be«)tiatiOtt, and yet it is not upon
record that a chief, or elder»brave was ever in-
terrupted in his ^peeeb, or that the decorum of
the council was infringfed bv irr^larity or tu>
ult on the part of those who might have con*
^haired themselves injured and aggrieved.
^ fl^^ren in regard to time^ it is a great mistake
fW^Aippose that anything is gainedf by interrupt
tion, ior an obstinate talker will carry his point
in the end; and although the persevering excla-
laationsj and groanings, and Growings of an im-

Stieat House of Commons, may succeed in
}woing his voice, and forcing him to sit down,
he will rise again on some other occasion ana
iafliot upon his hearers a speech whose bulk and
bitterness are both increased by the suppressed
iisrmentation which it has undeiigone.

Leaving the moody and dispirited Osage chief
to fimd his way back to his encampment, we will
now return to Reginald Brandon and his partv,
whom we left starting westward on the trail,
marching in regalar order, and prepared, without
delaying their progress, to repel any hostile at-
tempt on the part oi the Grows. The latter
Ufind seemed, however, so impressed with the
Mrengtb, discipline, and appomtments of the
white men's force, now that it bad received a
snong^ reinforcement, that they eave up all
inesent intention of molesting it, and went oflTin
•n qiposite direction in search of game, horses,
tt booty, where these might be acquircKi with
•ASS risk and dancer;

Reginald and llthelston went together on the
taut oi march; and although the spirits of the
Ibrmer were damped by the recent and melan-
ofaoly fhte of the Crow yonthv ^^ whom he had
felt much interest, the baoyant hilarity of his
disposition did not long resist bis friend's endeav-
ours to banish that subject from his thoughts,
and to turn the conversation to topics more im-
mediately connected with the object of their
pnsent expedition^

Reginald having once confided to Etbelston
his love foV Prairie-bird, found a pleasure in de-
scribing to him her beauty, her natural grace,
her simplicitj^ in short, all those charms a^ at-
tractions which had carried by storm the fortress
of his heart; and it seemed that his fHend was
no less willing to listen than he to talk upon the
siibfeet ; repeating question ailer question, re^
gaiding her with an unwearied intensity of curi-
osity that exelted at length the surprise of Regl-
orid himself.

» Indeed, Edward," he said, laughing, <*did I
Bet know that you are devoted to a certahi lady
QB the banks of tlte Muskingum, and that your
attachments are reasonably steady, I could al-
oiest believe that the fidelity and eloquence w4th
iNrioh I have <k8cribed Prairie^^Urd had made'
1^ ftil in lore with her yourself.*^

"'Perhaps you are claiming more merit ftt
your own eloqaence than is due to it," said
Etbelston, in a sitaiilar tone : ** you forget thai
before I joined you, Paul Mtiller and I had trav-
elled many hundred miles together; and it is a
topic upon which he speaks as warmly and par-
tially as yourselC"

"Well he may!" readied Reginald with en^«
gy, '* for she owes eveiything to his affectionaiiB
care and insuruction, m return for which she
loves and venerates him as if he were her fa-
ther."

In such conversation did the friends while away
many weary hours on the march; and at thv
midday halt, and evening camp, they were join-
ed by the worthy Missionary, who, justly proud
of his pupil, and knowing that he was addres»»
ing those who would not soon be weary of hear-
ing her praises, told them many anecdotes of her
early youth, with an earnestness and feeling
which often caused Reginald to avert his face,
and Etbelston to^shade his brow thoughtfully
with his hand.

I<^or was the march unenlivened by scenes oi
a merrier kind, for Pierre, Baptiste, and Mon«
sieur Perrot kept up a constant round of fun and
raillery around their camp-kettle; the latter con-
tinuing to act as chief cook for all the white men
and hufbred in the party, and leaving the Dela-
wares to dress their food after their own fancy.
Provisions were abundant in the camp, and Per-
rot contrived by his ingenuity to give a variety
both in appearance and flavour to supplies, whicr.
in truth consisted of little more than parched
maize, biscuit, cofiiee, and bison meat. He
talked incessantly^ and his lively sallies not only
amused his two companions, but often drew a
smile from Reginald, in spite of the anxiety oo-
casioned by the ol^ect of the expedition.

*' Master Baptiste," said the valet cook, (as
nearly as his language may be rendered into
English,) ''methinks those great hands of yours
dixe better skilled in chopping Sioux skafls, or
felling bee-trees, than in tne science of butchery :
secj here, what uncbristiaB lumps of meat you
have brought me to dress !"

" Were it not for these great hands, as you
call them," replied the sturdy Guide, *<you, Mas-
ter Perrot, with those fine-skinned fingers, would
often ere this have seen little of either deer or
bison-meal for your supper !"

** As for that, I deny not that you are tolerably
successful in hunting, and your load of venison
is sometimes brought decently home ; but in the
cutting up of a bison, your education has been
much neglected."

** It may be so. Monsieur Perrot," answered
Baptiste ; *' I do not pretend to much skill in the
matter, and yet methraks I should understand as
much of it as one who had never seen a bison a
month since I and who could not now dress a
cow's udder half so well as an Osage- squaw.^'
Pierre laughed oatr^gjht at his comrade's de^
preciationofPerrotV culinary skill, and the laU
ter, wheseteroper<wa8 not a whit ruffled by thit
disparagement of his talents, inquired with the
utmost gravity) .

** Pray« Baptlite, instruct me in this matter, fot
I doubt not, although you have so grievous.y
mutilated the ox, that your method of dressing
the cow's udier must M worth learning."

*'Nay," replied Baptiste, "I will show you
that when we come amoB^; cows and squaws j
m«a»iwhilei I recomuiend you to make yourself
a spaie perar^' a»^e ihay soon be numing fou.'

L

198

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

of those Osages, or some other roving Indians,
rwho may chance to carry off that moveable
u<»alp on the top of your head.*'

This allusion to Ferrol's disaster and narrow
escape among the Sioux, turned the laugh agaiast
him, but he quickly checked its current by pla-
cing before his companions some buffalo steaks,
and cakes of maize flour, which practically
contradicted all that they bad been saying in
disparagement of the good-humoured French-
man's cookery.

Towards iHe close of the second day's march,
one of the Delawares, who had been sent for-
ward to reconhoitre, galloped to the rear and re-
ported that he had seen one or two men at great
distance a-bead, nearly in the line of the trail
which they were now following. Reginald im*
mediately sprung upon Nekimi, who was walk-
ing like a pet dog at his side; and, accompanied
by Elhelston, rode forward to examine the stran-
gers with his telescope. The undulations of the
intervening ground hid them for a considerable
time from his view, and when they reappeared
they were near enough to be clearly distinguish-
ed through his glass.

" War-Eagle," he exclaimed, " heaven be
praised 1 it is my brave Indian brother returning
with young Wingenund. Edward, I will now

f resent to y«u the noblest creature thai ever yet
encountered in human shape. My feelings
would prompt me to rush forward and embrace
him; but we must conform ourselves to Indian
usage here, or we shall lose the good opiniou of
our Delaware friends."

Reginald had confided to his friend all that
had passed between himself and War-Eagle, not
even omitting his unfortunate and long-cherished
passion for Prairie-bird, so that Ethelston await-
ed his approach with no ordinary interest.

As the Delaware chieftain advanced with
erect front, his expanded chest thrown slightly
forward, and the fine symmetry of his form de-
veloped in every movement as he stepped lightly
over the prairie, Ethelston felt that he had never
seen, either in nature or in the works of art, a
finer specimen of manhood; and when he wit-
nessed the grave simplicity which mingled with
his cordial greeting of Reginald Brandon, he
could not deny that features, form, and bearing
stamped the Delaware chieftain at once as one
of the lords of the creation. Neither did the
gentle gracefulness of the slighter figure by
whom he was accompanied escape Ethelston's
notice, and he felt no difficulty in recognising in
the interesting features of the youth, that Win-
genund of whose high and amiable qualities he
had heard so much from Reginald.

" These are. Indeed," said Ethelston to him-
self, " worthy descendants of the Lenap6 princes,
whose sway in bygone days extended over many
hundred leagiies of fertile territory, from the
Ohio to the Atlantic coast: whose broad lands
are now tilled by the Saxon plough, on the site
of whose ancient villages now stand the churches
and the populous streets of Baltimore, and the
city of brotherly love. With the loss of their
dominion, most of these once-powerful tribes
have lost the highest and best characteristics of
their race; subdued by the rifle, corrupted by the
silver, degraded by the ardent spirits of the white
man, they present but too often a spectacle in
which it is difficult to recognise any traces of
the attributes with which the narratives of our
early travellers and missionaries invest them.
But these are indeed, features which a Titian

would not have {scorned to delineate ; th
forms which the pencil of Michael Angi
the chisel of Praxiteles would have rejoi
immortalize."

While these thoughts were rapidly passing
through the mind of Ethelston, the greeting be-
tween Reginald and War-Eap^le was exchanged;
and the former had given to his Indian brother
a hasty sketch of the events which had occurred
in his absence, and of those which had led to the
reinforcement brought by Ethelston. A gleam
of joy shot athwart the features of the Delaware^
as he learned the vengeance which his warrior?
bad taken of their enemies ; and his quick eye
glanced with gratified pride over the scalps
^hich they displayed, and the magnificent bear-
claw collar dependant from Atto's neck. The
Lenap6 braves saw too that the tomahawk of
their leader had not slept in its belt on his soli-
tary war-path, for the scalps of the two oaiortt*-
naie Osages whom he had slain huii^* cXod,
its handle; and though there was jj ^JOC^Sf
triumph, an audible murmur of sa'J *Ca ^ticn ran
through the whole band.

When Reginald presented Et>/>.lon to War-
Eagle as his earliest and most faithful friend
from childhood, the chief, taLlrg him by Uie
hand, said, " The friend of NeJi is the friend of
War-Eagle, — their hearts are one; he is very
welcome." Reginald then ^ ^»sented Winge-
nund to his friend, as the ga'jLnt youth who had
saved his life on the bank^ c/ the Muskingum.-

"I feel as if I had luhf known him," said
Ethelston, shaking his j^Ld cordially; *' I have
come lately from Moj%ii4iine, where his name
is not forgotten."

"Is the Lily of l»Cojshanne welll" inquired
the youth, fixing his Clark and earnest eyes full
upon the counien'eince of the person whom he
was addressing. Ethelston had been prepared
by his friend's description of Wingenund for a
demeanour and character highly interesting, bat
there was a melody, a pathos, a slight tremour
in the tone in which he spoke those few words,
there was also in his countenance a touching
expression of melancholy that thrilled to the
heart of Ethelston. How quick is the jealous
eye of love! Ethelston knew that Wingenund
had passed only one day in the society of Lucy,
yet he saw in an instant the deep impressioa
which' that day had lefl on the young Indian's
mind.

" The Lily of Mooshanne is well," he replied.
" If she had Known that I should visit her broth-
er, and his Lenap6^ friends, she would have bid
me speak many kind words to them from her."

Wingenund passed on, and War-Eagle related
to the two friends the leading circumstances of
his own expedition, omitting all mention of the
fatigue, the hunger, the sleepless nights that he
had undergone, before he discovered and reach-
ed the Osage camp.

As he described the scene of Wingenund be-
ing tied to the post, with the dried faggots at his
feet, and the appearance of Prairie-bird when
Mah^a called upon her to pronounce her own
or her brother's fate, both of his auditors held
their breath with anxious suspense, which gave
place to astonishment, as he proceeded to relate
with undisguised awe, the mystery of the solar
eclipse, which led to the liberation of Winge-
nund.

When he had concluded his narrative, Regi-
nald
Delaware'

was speechless, and Ethelston car hing the
Lware's arm, inquired in a low whisper^

THE PRAIBIE-BIRD.

L

the Osage dai«d, or wili ha daie to make
ie-bird bi» wife by forcer'
te has not,'' replied the Chief, '*the words

'Olitipa, and the black «m, made him afraid."
He added, drawing himself proadly to his fall
heifhc, *^ Had the wolf threatened to touch her
wiu his paw, the tomahawk of War-Eagle
would have pierced hi» heart, oi the bones of
the Lanap6 chief and his brother would have
been picked by the buzzards of the mountains."
So saying, War-Eagle joined his expectant
warriors.

In the mean time Mah^ga returned to his
eamp/in a vexed and gloomy state of mind; as
he passed the tent of Prairie-bird a darker frown
lowered upon his brow, and having entered his
lodge, he seated himself^ without speaking to
any of those who had assembled there, in ex-
pectation of his return.

The youngest of the Osages present having
handed him a lighted pipe, retiied to a comer
of the lodge, where \^e resumed his occupation
of sharpening the head of a barbed arrow,
leaving the chief to his own meditations. These
dwelt mainly upon Prairie-bird, and were of a
nature so mingled and vague, as to cause him
the (greatest perplexity; the effect of her beauty
and attractions upon his passions had rather
Incieased than diminished. He loved her as
iDQch as one so fierce and selfish could love
another; vet, on the other hand, he felt that he
onght to hate her, as being the sister of War-
Eagle, and the betrothed of the man who had
stmck and disgraced him ; with these contend-
ing feelings, there was blended a superstitious
awuof her communion with the world of spirits,
and a remote hope that some of these supemat-
nral agencies might turn her heart in hi3 fa-
roar, and induce her not only to become his
hride, but zealously to employ all her mysteri-
ons powers in the furtherance of his ambitious
fchemes.

Sach was the train of thought pursued by the
Osage, as he leaned against the pile of furs that
supported his back, and stretching his huge limbs
at tneir ease, watched the eddying wreaths of
fragrant smoke, which, eently puffed from his
month and nostril, wound their slow wav to the
fissures in the lodge-roof by which tney es-
caped.*

The suggestion of Toweno had made a strong
impression upon Mah^ga's mind, and led him to
dpect at no distant period, an attack on the
pah of the Delawares, and, as he was uncertain
of the force which his enemy might bring against
iiim, he- resolved to make a timely retreat to
some spot, where a pursuit, if attempted by the
I)elawares, might enable him to take them at a
disadvanti^pc.

Calling to him an Osage, who was leaning

against one of the outer posts that supported

the lodge, he desired him to make, with a com-

nde, a careful search of the neighbourhood,

lad to report any trail or suspicious appearance

(hat thev might find, and when he nad given

Ihese orders he summoned Toweno, and started

with him towards the head of the little valley,
—

* The heriM minglad by tlie Indiuu with a ■maU proiv\
Van of tobacco, are frequently of a light and fragrant fla-
vow ; sometimea, too. they have some narcotic properties. In
•vler fully to enjoy tneir qaalities after the Indian fashion,
the saaioker must inhale the mioke by the month and expel
^ thmigh the noatriU iA which operation the nerves and
aasU Teasela ef the latter experience a pungent sensation
vUdi' some consider highly agreeable, and is not unlike
4ift wUdi ie caoMd by » pu^eh of nttd, tor perfnined oiuft

without informing him of the olq'ect whieh he
had in view, but as the latter was the only per-
son to whom the chief had entrusted the secret
of the c&che, where his most valuable spoils
were deposited, and as they were now march-
ing in that direction, he was not at a loss to di-
vine Mah^ga's intentions. Afrer a brief silence,
the chief said $o nis follower, **Do the thoughts
of Toweno walk upon the same path with the
thoughts of.ldah^T'

" They do," he replied.

" Can Toweno speak thf>m V*

<*Mah^a intends to leave the camp befoie
the Lenap6 come, and taking some goods with
him as presents to the mountain tribes, to find a
safe place where the enemy cannot follow him."

" Toweno says well," answered the chief, with
a grim smile, **but that is not enough, the Le-
nap6 must be made a fool, he must be put upon
a wrong trail."

*< That is good, if it can be done," said To-
weno gravely, *< but it is not easy to put sand in
the eyes of War-£agle."

" Mah^ will put sand into his eyes, and a
knife into his heart before this moon becomes a
circle," replied the chie^ clutching as he went
the haft of his scalpknife, and unconsciously
lengthening his stride under the excitement pro-
duced by the thoughts of a conflict with his
hated foe. They had now reached the <* cAche,'*
which was a large dry hole in the side of a
rocky bank, the entrance to which was closed
by a stone, and admirably concealed by a dense
thicket of brambles and wild raspberry bushes;
having rolled away the stone, Mah6ga with-
drew from the c&che a plen^ul supply of beads,
vermilion, powder, and clotlh of various colour,
being part of the plunder taken from the camp
of the unfortunate Delawares, and wrapping in
two blankets as much as he and his companion
could carry, they replaced the stone, carefully
concealing their footprints as they retreated, by
strewing them with leaves and grass. At a
spot very near the e&che was the skeleton of a
deer, which Mab^ga had killed on a former oc-
casion, and purposely dragged thither. As soon
as they reacned this point, they took no further
precaution to conceal their trail, because even
if it were found, the party discovering it would
stop under the imptosion that it was made by
the hunters who had killed the deer. On re-
turning to the camp they met the two Osagss
who had been despatched to reconnoitre, and
who reported that they had found one fresh
Indian trail in the woods opposite the little val-
ley, and that they had followed it as far as the
stream, where, nrom its direction and appear-
ance, they were assured it was the trail of War-
Eagle ; and Mah6ga now first learned that his
daring foe had been within eighty yards of the
spot selected ibr the torture of Wingenund. His
was not a nature to give way to idle regrets;
equally a stranger to fear and to remorse, the
future troubled him but little, the past net ai all,
excepting when it afforded him food wherewith
to cherish his revenge ; so the information now
received did not interrupt him in carrying into
execution his plans for retreat. Accordingly,
ne desired Toweno to summon his warriors to
a council, and in a short time the band, now i^e-
daced to eight besides himself, assembled in
front of his lodge. Here he harangued them
with his usual cunning sagacity, pointing out
to them the 'risk of remaining m their present
position, and setting before tihem in the nuM

130

THS PRAtRI^-BIitO.

farearftble Hg^t the advantages wkioh sE^eht
a<^crae A'om their falling in ivith some of the
peaceable tiibes among the mountains, and
carrying back from them to the banks of the
Osage and Kansas riipers a plentiful cargo of
beaver and other valuable s\dm. Hairing con-
cluded his harangue, he opened before them the
largest (although the least precious) of the bales
brought from the c&ehe, which -he divided equally
^unong them, so that each warrior knowing what
belonged to him, might use it as he thought fit;
the remaining bale he ordered to be 4;aiefully se*
cured in wrappers of hide, and to be reserved
for negotiations fo» the benefit of the whole
band ; the Osages were loud in their approbation
•f the speech, and of the liberal distribution of
presents by which it had been accompanied, and
mey setiied ft&m his lodge to make immediate
pittpan^tions for departure.

While these were rapidly advancing, Mah6ga,
who had made himself thoroughly familiar with
the neighbouring locality, considered and ma-
tured his plans for retreat, the chief object of
which was to mislead the Delawares in the event
of their attempting a pursuit. The result of his '
meditsUioas he con&ied to bis own breast, and
his followers neither wished nor cared to know
it, having full reliance xrpon his sagacity and
judgment. Meanwhile Prairie-'bird remained
quietly in her tent, grateful for the deliverance
of her young brothers, and indulging in a thou-
sand dreamy visio'nsof herown escape, contrived
and effected by Reginald and War-Eagle. These
were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of Lita,
who, while engaged m carrying water from the
brook, had gathered from oneof theOsagfes some
intell^nee of what was going fdrward. If the
truth must be told, this Indian, separated from
the womafi-kind of his own tribe, had b^^n to
ioqk on the expressive gipsy countenance of the
Comanehe girt with an eve of ihvour ; and she
not being slow to detect the inftaenee which she
had acquired, encouraged him just enough to
render him communicative, and willCng to offer
her such attentions as were admissible in their
relative situations. Yet m her heajt she scorned
him as a ** dog of an Osage," and though he
knew her to be only a slave, there was something
in her manner that attracted him in spite of him-
self; it was not difficult for the quick girl to
father from her admirer the news of Winge-
nund's escape, and the death of the two Osages
sent to guard him, but when she heard the litter
attributed with an execration to the hand of War-
Eagle, she was obliged to avert her face, that
her informant might not observe the look of tri-
umph that gleamed in her darir eyes.

Uavii^ ascertained at the same time, that
Mah^a was about to strike his camp and re-
sume his march, she rewarded the Osage by an
arch smile, that sent him awav contented, while
she, taking up her water vessel, pursued her way
to her mistress's tent.

To the latter, Lita lost no time in communi-
cating what she had learned, and was disappoint-
ed 'to observe that Prairie^bird seemed rather
vexed than gratified by the intelligence.

" Does OUtipa not rejoice 1'' inquired she ea-
gerly, *' that th' scalps of the Washashe dogs
who kept Wingenund prisoner are hanging at
the belt of the LenapA chief T'

" OUtipa is tired of blood," answered the maid-
en, mournfully, " and the loss of his warriors will
maiEe Mah6ga more fierce and cruel to us. See,
atiraady he prepares to go oa ^distant path, where

tne eyes of Wair*Bagle and BTtfi^Jiury
us f and the poor giri shuddered at the
of a journey to regions yet more wfld anc
and a captivity yet more hopeless of d^ivei

<* Let him go where never Washashe foot step-''
ped before," replied Lita, "w^here no trail is seen
but4hatof the bighorn, and the bladbi- tailed deer;
War-Eagle will follow and will find him."

Prairie-bird smiled sadly at the ea^xaess of
her companion, and then &sired her aid in get-
ting their wardrobe and few moveables ready ^r
the expected journey. While they were thus
employed Mahega called Prairie-biKi to the door
of ner tent, where she found the chief; w^b his
arm wrapped round with a cloth; and believing
him to be wounded, she acceded at once to4iis
request that she would give him one of her ker-
chiefs for a bandage. During the remainder oi
the evening she saw nothing more of him or cl
his people, and she slept undisturbed until an
hour before dawn, when she was awakened by
the bustle of preparation for departure.

As soon as her light teat was struck- imd fast*
ened to the poles which supported it, she observed
that a kind of cradle had been consti*o^ed by the
Osages, which was covered with slcins, ana was
adapted to the purpose of carrying herself or her
moveables, when Mung to the teat poles, as w^
as to convey its contents dry over any river thai
might obstruct their passage.

The Osage party was notipdivided into two, ef
which one was reserved by Maheiga for his own
guidance, the other being entrasfed to that oc
Toweno; all the horses were placed under thti
charge of the latter, including those canying the
packages, and the palfrey usually ridden bj
Prairie-bird ; this party bent their course to tht
northward, and Mahega accompanied them s
few hundred yards, repeating many instruction*
to Toweno, which seemed from his earnest ges-
ticulation to be both minute and important.

The heart of Prairie-bird sank within her
when she saw her favourite horse led away, and
herself left with Lita on foot, attended by Ma-
hega and four of his men ; knowing, however,
the inutility of any present attempt either at re»
sistance or fitght, she awaited in uncomplaining
silence the further commands of her captor, al-
though she easily saw through the nsocking veH
ot courtesy with which he disguised his antici-
pated trinmph over her baffled friends. To his
inquiry whether she preferred travelling on foot
to being carried in the wicker-frame by two ot
his men, she replied without hesitaticua, in the
affirmative ; upon which he presented her with
a pair of moccasins, to be worn over her own, so
ingeniously contrived that although they did not
encumber her movements by their weight, they
yet rendered it impossible that her foot-prints
should be recognised, even by the practised eye
of War-Eagle. A similar pair was also placed
on the feet of Lita.

It mav easily be imagined, that the Osages,
during their residenee at this encampment, made
various excursions for hunting and other pur-
poses ; they had used on these occasioos okt trails
made by native tribes or by the bison j one of
these ran in a north-east direction, skirting the
base of the high western hills, and ofibring th<*
prospect of easy travelling, through an undula-
ting and partially wooded country. Into this
pa4i Mah^ struck at onee. leadins tibe waj
himself, followed oy Prairie-bird andf Lita, Ote
four Osages bringing up the rear. This Une ot
mareh being adopted by tha einuagchia^ fisn

T:EB FBillRIB-BlRI).

Idl

might kftTB irequbnt cq^^portanity cf
aaod apealdng with the maiden, and
^Yf that bis men might b^ (he better ena-
Ito lolfil hi» istrictinjanctiQn, that they should
oaiefolly remove any trace which she might
poi^poseiy, or accidentally, leare on the trail.

Sach an idea did not, however, appear lol^ave
entered tbe thoughts of Prairie-bird, for she fol-
lowed the Osage chief with a blithe and cheerful
air, replying, good-humonredly to* the observa-
lioaS) wiaich he from time to time addressed to
her, and pointing out to Lita the beauties of the
scenery tnroagh which they were pas^ine.

It was indeed a lovely region, aboanding in
reck, herbage, and magnificent timber ; the latter
afimlDg an agreeable shelter from the rays of
the son, while the fresh breeze, blowing from
the s&ow-eapped mountains, which bounded the
' vesteco prospect, rendered tne exercise of walk-
agjpleaaaBt in me highest degrefe*

They had fc^owed the traU for some time
without meeting with any game, when the quick
c^ of Mahega detected a mountain-deer, bro ws-
iq; at no great distance, and in a moment an
•CfBur from his bow piereed its flank ; the/wound-
ed animal bounded onward into the glade, and
the chief ^urang forward in pursuit. The Osa-
ges fixed their keen and eager eyes on the chase,
mattersig haif^aload expressions of impatient
^econtent at being prevented from joining it.
Swift as had been the arrow of Mah^ga, it was
not more so than the tbonght and hand of Prai-
rie-bird, who ccmtrived, while her guards were
gaxms intently on the deer and its pursuer, to
iet fall nnperceived a small slip of paper upon
the tndl ; so completely did she appear absorbed
in watching the chase, that the movement was
ii»H)ticed even by Lata, and the party continued
tiuAi way a few hundred steps, when a signal
kom Malk^, now out of sight, soon brought
6oe of his folfewers to assist him in cutting up
the quarry.

Reibre leaving her tent, Prafrie-birdhad pre-
pared and secreted about her person several
small slips of paper, on each of which she had
vritleQ tne word '^FoUow,'' trusting to her own
iageaisltv to find an opportunity of dropping
one now and then nnobsorved by the Osages.

Such an opportunity having now occurred, it
had been successfully employed, and the maiaen
went forward with a lighter heart, in the confi-
dent hope that Providence would cause some
friendly eye to rest upon the slight, yet guiding
toi»n lelt apott hejr path.

For two days Mah^ga pursued his march
eisurely, as ir fearless of pursuit, halting fre-
quency to afford rest and refreshment to Prairie-
tord, and camping at night, on some sheltered
spot, where his men constructed for her protec-
tum a but, or bower of branches, over which
was thrown a covering of skins ; before settii^
out in the morning this bower was destroyed,
and die branches dragged to some distance in
sevsoral directions, and Mah6ga, having careful-
ly examined the spot, was the last to leave it,
in order to ensure tnat no indication or trace of
his fait prisoner might remain.

On the third day about noon they reached the
kudca of a broad stream, which two of the Osa-
ges crossed immediately, with instructions from
Oeir diief to make a visible trail in a N.E.
direction for some distance, when they wer£ to
enter the river again at another place, and to
wade or swim down it nntil they rejoined him;
aicaawhlle FrakieNbird and Lita, with such arti-

cles as they wished to keep dfy, were placed In
the light coriole or wicker-boat covered with
skins, and Mah6ga guided its course down the
stream, followed by the remainder of Ms men:
they descended the bed of the river for several
miles in this way, and although more than one
trail appeared on the banks as a crossing place
for Indians or bison, he passed thei^ all anoeed-
ed, until he came to a broad track, which had
very lately been trodden by so many feet that
the trail of his own partv could not be distin-
^ished upon it ; here he halted until he was re-
joined by the men whom he had left behind,
when thev proceeded forward at a brisk pace,
towards the spot which he had appointed as the
rendezvous for his party in charge of the pack-
ages and the horses.

Mah^ was now in high spirits, beine confi-
dent that the precautions which he had taken
would throw tAe pursuers off the scent, and en-
able him to follow out his plans, which were to
Urade, during the summer ijrith the Shosonies
and other tribes hoveling about the spurs of the
mountains, procuring irom ihem beaver and
other valuable furs in exchange for the fine
cloths'and goods which he had brought from the
Delaware camp; after which he proposed to re-
turn to the northern portion of the Osage country,
enriched bv his tramc, and glorying in the pos-
session of his mvsterious and beautiful bride.

Such were tne projects entertained by the
Osage chief, and he brooded over them so ab-
stactedly, that he afibided to the ever-watchful
Prairie-bird an opportunity of dropping another
of her small slips of paper unperceived ; she did
not neglect it, althoijgh almost hopeless of her
friends ever discovering her path alter the many
precautions taken by Mah6ga, and the long dis-
tance down the« course of the river where no
trail nor trace of the passage of his party could
be left.

On reaching the rendezvous he found his de-
tachment with the horses and baggage already
arrived ; they had come by a circuitous route,
availing themselves of several Indian trails by
the way, on one of which Toweno had, by direc-
tion of^ his chief, scattered some shreds of the
kerchief that he obtained from Prairie-bird ;
after which he had returned upon the same
trail, and diverged into a transverse one, which
had enabled him to reach the rendezvous by the
time appointed.

Praine-bird being again mounted upon her
favourite palfrey, the whole party set forward
with increased speed, which they did not relax
until towards evening, when they saw in the
distance numeroas fires, betokening the neigh-
bourhood of a populous Indian village. Mah4-
ga. then ordered a halt, and having sent forward
Toweno to reconnoitre, encamped in a sheltered
valley for the night. When Prairie-bird found
herself once more, after the fatigues of the two
preceding days, under the cover of her own tent,
she looked round its small circular limits, and
felt as if she were at home ! casting herself upon
her couch of furs, she offered up her grated,
thanks to the Almighty Being who had hitherto
so mercifully protectea her, and soon foigot her
cares and weariness in sound and refreshing
slumbers*

J

18S

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD

CHAPTER XXXV.

War E«glA and his Party reach the deserted Camp of the
Osaffes.— Tlie Latter fall in with a strange Band of In-
dians, and Mah^ga appears in the Character of a Piplo-

A BRiGBT sun shone upon the little valley,
which, twenty-four hoars before, had been de-
serted by Uie Osages, when a tall form glided
eautionsly to its entrance, half concealed by the
bushes that fringed its edge. Glancing hastily
around, War-Eagle, for ne it was who was
guiding his party in pursuit, returned to an-
nounce to them his belief that the enemy had
decamped ; nevertheless, the usual precautions
were adopted against a surprise. A small body
of Delawares were thrown forward to recon-
noitre the neighbouring woods, under the com-
mand of Att5, while the chief, accompanied by
Reginald, Ethelston, and the rest of the party,
entered the deserted Osage encitmpment; every
nook and cranny among the adjacent woods
and rocks'were diligently explored, and not till
then were they convinced that their crafty foe
had given them the slip. While the rest of the
party were busied in tnis search, the eye of Re-
ginald Brandon rested 'in absorbed attention
upon the spot to which his steps had been first
led, as if by the power of instinct ; it was a small
plot, completely sheltered by the rock which
' guarded tne front of the recess ; a few holes
made in the turf showed where pegs had been
driven in to secure a circular tent. " Here,"
said Reginald to Ethelston, *'here is the spot
trodden by her dear feet — here have her weary
limbs reposed during the long watches of the
night— here have her prayers been offered up at
noon and eve for that rescue which we seem
doomed, alas ! never to accomplish !"

" Say not a word, my son," said Paul Muller,
laying his hand kindly on the excited Reginald's
shoulder; "say not a word, my son, which
would seem to limit the power or the mercy of
that Being to whom (hose prayers were address-
ed. Hope is the privilege, perseverance the duty
of man; let us faithfully use these bounti^, and
leave the issue to His all- wise disposal."

'< I am indeed ashamed of my hasty expres-
sion, worthy Father," said Reginald, frankly;
" but I will draw encouragement from your sug-
gestion, and banish every desponding thought,
while there remains a chance of success, or even
a glimmering of hope."

Wingenund, who had approached unobserved
to the side of his friend, whispered to him, in a
low voice, " Netis is right : here it was that Olit-
ipa sat when Wingenund was a prisoner ; she is
not far, the Lenape warriors never lose a trail."

While they were thus conversing, a messen-
ger firom War-Eagle summoned them to a con-
sultation on the plan of pursuit which should be
adopted. •

It may not be unnecessary to inform those
who have never been upon the prairies of the
Far- West, that a trail is easily followed when
' the party pursued is in full retreat, because any
indication of footsteps is a sure guide to its
course; whereas, in a camping-place, where a
party has remained for a considerable time,
numberless paths are trodden in various direc-
tions during its stay, some for hunting excur-
fltions, some for bringing water, others for leading
horses to and from their pasturage, so that the
pursuer is at a loss to discover by which of
these paths those of whom he is in pursuit have
xetieated.

War»Eagle being well aware that
was ikot less skilled than himself in aL
agems and devices of Indian warfare, sei .
this difficult task with a deliberation that d
suit the eager temper of Reginald Brandon f
nevertheless, he had so much confidence in the
sagacity of his Indian brother, that he restraineJ
all expression of his impatience, and agreed
without objection to the method proposed by him
at the couhcil. Agreeably to this plan, Paal
Muller, Perrot, and several of the hunters and
Delawares, remained on guard at tho camp,
while the main body, divided into small parties
of two or three in each, were to explore every
trail that offered a probability of success, and to
return before nishtfall to report the result of
their search. War-Eagle set out, accompanied
bv Atto ; Reginald was joined by Ethelston and
Baptiste ; the other parties took the respective
quarters assigned to them, and Wingenund, who
remained some time ailer they ha^d started, left
the camp alone.

The trail followed by Reginald and his friends
led towards the upper part of the valley, over
broken and bushy ground, intersected here and
there by streamlets, and small springs, which just
afforded water enough to soften the herbage, m
which they were soon lo^t Had he been less
absorbed by the object of the expedition, Regi-
nald could not have failed to admire the tran-
quil beauty of this sheltered and secluded spot;
but the ricn folia^ of the forest trees, the merry
chirrup of the birds, the fragrance exhaled by
the numberless shrubs and flowers, tne tempting
clusters ef wild raspberries, scattered arouna
their path, all these were passed unneeded by
men whose senses and faculties were centered
only on the trail. With equal modesty and gooe
sense, Reginald had desired Baptiste to take the
lead, knowing that the sturdy forester's expe-
rience in such matters was far greater than his
own.

After they had marched a considerable dis-
tance in silence, Reginald inquired the opinion
of his guide.

" Why, vou see " renlied the latter, " the Osa-
ges have driven tneir horses several times this
way to feed, and their marks are plaih enough ;
but if a man may judge by the looks of the coun-
try forward, this is not likely to be the right
trail. It seems to get smaller the further we go ;
and Fm inclined to think it*s only been a honi^
ing path into the woods."

Alter this unsatisfactory observation, Baptiste
again went forward, until' he stopped at the
skeleton of a deer; the jsame, it may be re-
membered, as was mentioned in a former chap-
ter. Here all traces of a further trail ceased,
and the disappointed Reginald exclaimed,

" Baptiste, your suggestion was only too cor-
rect; we have lost our time; let us return, and
search in some other direction."

"Not so fast. Master Reginald," replied the
cautions Guide; "there's as many tricks in an
Indian's brain as there are holes in a honey-
comb. The animal has been dead some time,
and, unless this grass deceives me, it has been
trodden within these two days. Voyons vite, as
they say up north. Stand quite still; and jou,
too, Master Ethelston, keep on that side of the
deer^s bones, while I have a bit of a hunt ailei
the wood fashion."

•So saying, the Guide, resting " The Doctor"
upon the skeleton, and throwing himself upon
his kneesi bc^gan to tarn over the leaves arl W

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

lis

minutely ereiy Made of grass and fallen
ttteringy as he parsaed his task, "If
Tgle, or one of his double-sighted Dela-
were here, he voold pick oat this trail in
'OD time. My eyes are not so good as thev were
lome Tears back ; but they will serve this pur-
pose, however : This is onlv bungling worlf ,
after aL: one^two; yes, I think ihere's been
two of them. Capote! they've strewed sticks
and leaves over the back-trail i" And the rough
woodsman, as, creeping forward on his knees, he
discovered each succeeding step on the trail,
htunmed snatches of an old Canadian song, the
oaljT words of which that the two friends could
distinguish, being " Vogue, vogue, la bonne pi-
rogue!"

" Has it not oAen been a matter of surprise to
yen," said Ethelston in a whisper to Reginald,
''that the language, and even the dialect, of the
Guide so constantly varies 1 Sometimes he
SBeaks very intelligible £z^lish; at others, his
phrases and exclamations are mostly French ;
and, on other occasions, he mingles the two most
strangely together."

"I confess," replied Reginald, "the same
thought has often occurred to me; yet it is not,
perhaps, so strange as it would at nrst sight ap-
pear, when we remember the vicissitudes of
his early life, the number of years that he spent
in youth among the French boatmen and traders
of the northern lakes, his excursions with them
into the country of the Upper Sioux and the
Chippewyan nations; while for the last fifteen
years he nas been much employed by my father,
and,ftx)m his honesty and trustworthy qualities,
has been thrown ^ great deal into constant in-
tercourse with persons of respectability and edu-
cation."

Meanwhile, Baptiste having ascertained the
direction of the trail, cast his eyes forward, and,
like a shrewd reasoner, jumped to his conclu-
sion, in this instance, more correctly than is
usually the case with the persons to whom he
has been likened. Pushing aside the bushes
>irhich grew at theibase of a rock, he soon ob-
served a large aperture, closed by a stone of
corresponding dimensions. This last was, with
the aid of Reginald,, soon displaced, and the
"ciche'' of the Osages, together with the plun-
dered treasure it contained, was exposed to view.

''So, so!" chuckled the Guide, '*we have
found the thieving fox's hole ; an they do not
cover their trail somewhat better from the eyes
of War-Eagle, we shall have their skins before
three nights are over; why, a town lawyer conld
have treed this coon !"

Reginald and Ethelston could not forbear
laughing at the low estimation in which the
woodsman held the ferreting powers of a town
.lawyer — an estimation so contrary to that enter-
tained by 'hose who have any experience in the
capacity of a class so unjustly depreciated.
They resolved to carry with them to the camp
the whole contents of the cave, with a view to
their being forthwith appropriated and disposed
of by War- Eagle, now the chief of the tribe.

Three large blankets were easily tied into the
#Drm of so many sacks, of which each threw one
over his shoulder, and they returned with their
recovered spoil to the encampment

Great was the surprise of the Delawares when
Iheysaw the three white men coming in, hot and
weary with their load; greater stiU, when the
blankets were opened, and their contents laid
sot upon the turf, among which were foimd

lead, powder, cloth, knives, beads, paints, med-
icine-bags, and a varietv of ^mall articleSjjplon-
dered from the lodge oi the unfortunate Tame-
nund, and those adjoining. Among these were
a few books and instruments belonging to Prai-
rie-bird and Paul Miiller, all of which were im-
mediately delivered over to the latter.

War-Eagle's party was already so well sup-
plied with necessaries of every kind, that only
a small portion of the goods was required for
their use ; and the chief, after permitting every
man to claim anything which might have be-
longed to himself or his relatives, ordered the
remainder to be packed in bales of a convenient
size, so that they might be either carried with
them or concealed, as circumstances might ren-
der advisable.

The council was opened by War-Eagle, who
desired the several parties, who had been out in
different directions, to state the result of the
search. This was done with the brief simplicity ,
usually observed by Indians on such occasions.
But nothing of importance was elicited; for of
the trails which they had examined, none seemed
to be that pursued by the Osages in their retreat
During the speech of one of the Delaware war-
riors, Wingenund, who had not before made his
appearance, noiselessly entered the circle, and.
taking his place by the side of Reginald, leanea
in silence upon his rifle.

Baptiste, whose age and experience entitled
him to speak, and who suspected that the chief
had not been alto^her unsuccessful in his
search, addressed him thus: ''Has War-Eagle
no word for his warriors 1 Grande-Hftche and
Netis have found the stolen goods: has the path
of the thief been dark to the eyes of the ChieH"

" The foot of War-Eagle has been on the
Washashe trail," was the calm reply.

A murmur of satisfaction ran through the as-
sembly, and Reginald could scarcely restrain the
open expression of his impatient joy.

*'The trail is fresh," continued the chief; "not
more than two dews have fallen on the prints of
foot and hoof"

« Did my brother see the footmarks of Olitipa
and the Comanche girll" inquired Reginald,
hastUy.

<' He did not, but he saw the trail of Olitipa't
horse; iron is on two of its feet"*

During this conversation, Wingenund more
than oncif looked up in the face of his white
brother, then cast his eyes again upon the ground
without speaking. The expression of the youth's
countenance did not escape the observation of
War-Eagle, who thus addressed him : '* Has tht
young warrior of the race of Tamenund seen
nothing 1 He has been far over the Prairie ; his
step was the last to return to camp; his eyes are
not shut-; there are words in his breast; why are
his lips silent 1"

The youth modestly replied in a voice, the
singularly musical tone of which charmed and
surprised Ethelston, who had^ldom heard him
speak before, " Wingenund waited until warriors
who have seen many summers, and travelled the
warpath often, should have spoken. Wingeni^d
has oeen on the Washashe trail." •

At this announcement an exclamation of sur-
prise was uttered by several of the bystandenf,
tor all *had seen that the direction wnence the
youth had remmed to the camp was quite differ-

* It may well be supposed that the horses used bj the
Indians on the prairie are never shod. The palfrey of Olit'
i]M had probaUr been vroovnd firam Mme Hesioaa tittdar

1S4

THE prairic-biad:

cnt from that which had been pursued by War-
i Eagle, and yet the latter had amrmed that he had
been' on the trail of the enemy. The chief him-
self was, indeed, snrprised, but he knew the
diffidence, as well as the acnte sagacity of the
young speaker; a^d although confident that he
was not mistaken in his own judgment, be was
not by any means disposed to overrule, without
careful inquiry, that of his brother. The con-
> rerisation Mween th«n was thus pursued :

"Were there horses on the trail found by
Wingenundr'

" There were not."

" Were the men many in number 1"

*' Wineenund cannot snreltr say ) the trail was
old and beaten; buffalo haa passed on It; of
fresh marks he could not see many; more than
four, not so many as ten."

<< Let my brother point with his finger to the
line of the trail."

The youth slowly turned, cast his eye upward
at the sun, thence at the rocks ^overhanging the
valky to me northward, and then pointed stead-
ily in a north-easterly direction.

War-Eagle, well assured that his own obser-
vation had been correct, and that he had followed
a trail leading towards the north-west, thus con-
tinual : " There are many nations and bands of
Indians here; a felse light may have shone on
the path. How does my young brother know
that the feet of the Washashe had trodden itV'

There was a natural dignity, without the
slightest touch of vanity, in the manner of the
'youth, as he replied, " The Great Spirit has giv-
en eyes to Wingenund, and he has learned from
War-Eagle to know the mocassin of a Washa-
she from that of a E)ahcotah, a Pawnee, a Shaw-
ano, or a Maha."

After musing a moment, War-Ea^le continued.
* Did my brother find the foot of Olitipa and the
Comanehe girl on the path 1"

*< He could not find the mark of their feet, yet
he believes they are on the path," was the un-
hesitating reply.

Reginald and Ethelston looked at thespeaVer
with undisguised astonishment; and War-Ea-
gle, althoagh he could not believe but what the
latter was mistaken, continued thus to question
him: "My brother's speech is dark; if he could
find no trail of the women, why does he think
that the^ are on the pathi Have the Washa-
she carried themi"

« Not so," replied Wingenund. " Twice the
trail ?;ro8sed a soft bank -of sand, where water
runs from^the mountains in winter; there were
the marks of two who had passed lately, their
feet large as those of the warriors, the tread light
as tlMit of a woman or a young boy."

The chief was very reluctant to say or do
aught that might give pain to his young brother,
whose future success as war-leader of the Lena-
pe'had ever been the object of his fondest hopes;
out in the urgent business in which they were
now engaged, he felt that all other considerations
must be secondary to the recovery of Olitipa and
revenge jon Mah6ga for the loss and disgrace in-
flieted on the Lenap^.

" My brother has eyes as sharp and feet as
light as a panther," he said, in a kindly tone ;
" but a trail in this strange country may deceive
a man who has been on the warpath for ti^eniy
summers. The trail followed by War-Eagle
goes through that small valley between the hills,"
pointing to the north-west. ** Atto was with him ;
they knew the iron hoof of OUtipa's horse ; they

found this scrap, torn fhHn her dress by a
ble stretching across the path. Is my ~
satisfied 1"

As the chief spoke, he held up before the coun-
cil a shred of a silk Kerchief, such as none, cer-
tainly, except she whom they sought was like^
to have worn in that region. Again a mnroKir
of approbation ran through the assembly: and
Reginald, vexed that his young favourite should
have been subjected to such a disappointment,
looked towards him, in order to see whether he
bore it with equanimity.

The countenance of Wingenund underwent
not any change, save that a quiet smile lurkea
in the corner of his mbuth, as he replied, <* My
brother and Atto are both known on the warpath ;
Uieir feet are swift, and no lies are found on their
li]L>s ; it must be true that they have seen the ho^
print of Olitipa's horse ; it is true that the piece
of dress torn off by the bramble belonged to her.
Very cunning are the Washashe wolves; they
have tried to blind the eyes of the Lenap^ ; they
have made two paths ; let my brother follow that
which he has found, and Wingenund the other;
perhaps they join beyond the mountain."

"There is senise in what the lad proposes."'
said Baptiste, who had listened attentively hith-
erto, wittiout speaking, and who remembered (he
acuteness shown by Wingenund near the banks
of the Ohio. " If he is sure that he has been on
the Washashe trail, 'tis like enough they hare
divided to throw us off the scent j they will come
together again further north."

Again War-Eagle mused in silence for a few
minutest; then abruptly turning towards Reef-
naki, he inquired, <* What is th» thought of Ne<
tisi"

" I thinij," replied the latter, «* that Wingenund^
would never have spoken as he has spoken were
it not that he felt assured of all that he said. I
would venture my life, and what is now far
dearer to me than my life, on the truth of hit
worfls."

The youth looked gratefully at the speaker
and a smile of gratified pride stole over his elo
quent countenance. .

" It is enough " said Wap-Eagle with dignity:
" let Wingenund go upon his path ; he shall not
go alone. Whicn path does my brother NetW
Shoose 1 he has beard all that has been said V*

Reffinald was sorely puzzled: on one side
was the sagacious experience of the chief, added
to the strong evidence a!ffi)ided by the shred of
silk; on the other, the confident assurance of a
youth, of whose diffidence and acuteness he had
seen so many proofs. While he was still hesi-
tating, he saw the eyes of the latter fixed- upon
him with an earnest, imploring expression, that
decided him at once.

" I will go with my young brother," he said
firmly ; " Grande-Hiche, Ethelston, and six men
shall go with us ; War-Eagle, with the rest of
the party, shall go on the large Washashe trail
that he has struck. Let the chief sav how we
shall meet beyond the mountain if either cf the
trails prove false."

"It is good," said War-Eagle; *«Att5 snal
lead the warriors who go with my white brother
and before the third sun rises we will eome «>
gether again and talk of what we have seen.'

Having thus spoken, the chief waved his hand
to intimate that the ccmncil was dissolved; and
calling Wingenund and Atto aside, he gave
them clear and rapid instructions as to the
course to be pursued m case of the trails diver

TBE PRAIIt^IlS^BIftD

fift

to oppo^ie qtunen, and he cstablMied at
same time Tanotts sigaaiSy to be used in

5 of necessitr .
Pierre and M. Parrot asked and obtained
leave to jobi Reginald's party; most of the faor-
aes and all the spare baggage followed that of
War-Eagle, who led them off through the deflle
in the raonntaiBs before aUaded to, while Win-
mmd led the way to the trail whieh he bad
ofscovered, wkh the light springy step of an an-
telope, and an expression ox bright coofidence on
bis coantenance, which eomraunicated a similar
feeling to those who might otherwise have been
(tisinclined to trtist themselves, to the gaidanee
9f a youth oa his fint war-path.

'Wittle these things were passing in the aUted

camp, the Osage named Teweno, who bad, it

nay be rea&embered, been sent forward by Ma-

vkigsk to recoonoitre, retamed on the following

ttoraing to his ehiei^ bringiiig him inteUigence

that the fires seen at a distance were those of a

wmerooai band erf* Upsarokas ; be had crept near

enough to reco^ise them as sneh by their dress,

the trap^ngs of their horses, and other indtea-

Tioas not to be mistaken. On receivkig this, in-

(brmation, Mah^ revolred m his mind various

plans for gaining the good will of his dangerons

neighbomrs, £uid of securing their alliance as a

protection agninst any faither hostilities that

•might yet be attempted by those in pursuit of his

trail. As he had often before profited bj the

shrewd aidvkie of his follower, so did he mvite

him now to give his opinion as to the best course

h be adopted; and in order that the discussion

might not be overheard, he walked slowly with

Toweno down a glade which led towards the

Crow camp.

Thev had not pnsceeded far, when they saw a
iae bieon-eow coming directly towards them ;
from her languid and crippled movement, it was
evident that she wae wounded ; while from her
straggles to get forward, it was equally clear
that she was pursued. The Osageft lost not a
moment in crouching below the cover of a thiek
rash; std scarcely bad they done so when a
aeaated fodian appeared, uiging his tired hrose
<ip the gladie after the wonmled cow. It hap-
peaed that she fell, unable to proceed Airther,
Dot many yards frc^m the spot where Mah^a
was concealed f and her pursuer slackening his
pace, approached leisurely; and having shot
another arrow into her side, dispatched her with
the long knife which hung at his side.

He was a tall, fine-looking man, in the prime
of life, with remarkably hi|h cheek bones, an
aquiline nose, and a mass oi long hair gathered
or clnbbed at the back of his head; his hunting-
thin and ieggias denoted by their ornaments a
warrior of rank in his tribe, and his whole ap-
pearance and bearing were indicative of habitu-
al authority.

The little steed which had borne him, and
which in truth would have been termied among
white men a ponv, stood panting beside Its mas-
ter, whose weight seemed entirely dispropor-
toned to its size and strength ; and the Crow
.fUBter now stooped over the bison-cow, examin
:^ her condition and her Iht with the attention
of a practised Indian gourmand.

Meanwhile, haif a minute sufficed for Mafa^
{8 to explain his intentions in a -whisper to his
ibllower, and less than half a minute sufficed to
earry them into execution. Rushing to^gether
•pon the Crow while he was stooping with his
teck towards them, they seized ana pinioned

0n We

hhn bef<»8 he had tfane to cateh^nphis ludfe or
to ofi^ the least reOistance. Never was there
an attack more unexpected, nor a victory more
easily obtained; and the discomfited Crow look-
ed upon his two captors with an astonishment
that he could not conceal. Their dress and
tribe were altogether strange to him; and the
scouts around the camp having brought in no
report of any suspicious appearance or trail
having been discovered, itconld not be wondered
at if be imagined that they must have pounced
upon him from the clouds.

As soon as Mab^ga had assured himself that
the hands of the prisoner were securely tied, he
led him towards a spot more sheltered Irom ob*
servation, Toweno following with the horse;
and if the Crow felt at first any uneasiness re-
specting their intentions towanis hkn, it must
have been soon dispelled, as the Osage chief as-
sured him, in the language of signs, that no
barm was intended to him, and t^ ne wouM
soon be at libefty.

After a short consultation with Toweno^ the
chief determined Co conduct the prisoner to his
camp, on reaching which his arms wefe un-
bouha, and he was conrteously invited to take a
seat by his captors. The Crow obeyed without
any apparent reluctance, having satisfied him-
self by a hasty glance around that he was
watched by several well-armed men, and that
any attempt at escape or resistance, must be for
the present hopeless of success.

The pipe of peace having been smoked be-
tween tne Osage and his prisoner, some meat
and cakes were placed before the latter, of which
be partook without hesitation ; but he could not
resist casting sundry curious glances at the white
eent, wondering what it might contain ; he observ-
ed,* also, the numerous packs and bales scattered
around, and thought within himself that, what-
ever might be his own fate, many of these wou\.d,
ere long, fall into the hands of his tribe.

As soon as he had feished his meal, Mah6ga,
resuming the conversation in ^e language of
signs, explained to him that he wished to be-
come friends with the XJpsaroka; that he had
come from very far with few followers, having
fought with the Pale-Faces; that the tent was
Great Medieine, and comained that which
brought wealth and good things to friends, but
terror and misfcxrtunes to enemies.

It may be supposed that the Upsafoka did
not, in nis present circumstances, regrer these
peaceful overtures; on the contrary, he bound
nimself by the most solemn promises to do
everything in his power towards establishina
friendship between their respective tribes, and
he gave MabOga to understand, by his gestures,
that he was not wit&out audiority among the
Crows.*

'* Amon^ som« of the North AznericaA tribes it is the cos*
torn for an Indian entering into a K^emii obligation, f
place his hand againtt the thigh of the party to whom he
nuJtefl ths yroiaiae ; and this usage has in several instance*
bemi triumphantly quoted l^ those authors who have la-
boured to prove the descent of the North American Indiana
from the lost tribes of Israel. The origin and meaning of

' e custom, which ia as ancient s» the time of Abraham
ien^ zxiv^ 2), are both involved in great obseuritf ; sun-
^ly ezplanatians have beenattempted by learned cemmei *•
atf>r8 of difTerent ages and nations ; the Jewish writings of
the highest authority, such as the Targum of Jems^oni,
and that of Jonathan Ben'Uzziel, derive it from the cow-
naat of Ciroumoisian, to which they maintain its symbolic
analogy b^argttments which it is unnecessary here to prc^
duoe. Adam Clarke, in his Commentary, leans to this
view, but does not offer any eoneloBive reasoning in sufiport
of iu Bishop Patrick, foUowing tba learned Calmet) d«

135

THE PBAIRIE-BIRD.

Udod receiriog this assurance, the Osage
chief suffered his prisoner to depart, restoring to
him liis horse, and presenting him vith several
trinkets in token of iriendship.

The first use which the latter made of his re-
covered liberty, was to invite Mah^a to return
with him to the Upsaroka village, an invitation
which, to the surprise of his followera^iie accept-
ed without hesitation.

With a p^ting caution to Toweno to keep
his men watchful and ready against a surprise,
he threw a battle-robe* over his broad shoulders,
and, armed with his rifie, tomahawk, and knife,
accompanied his new ally towards the Crow vil-
lage.

On approaching it he found that it consisted
of more tban a hundred lodees, containing, probi
ably, two hundred men, besides women and
chiloren.

Great was their surprise when they saw the
gigantic stranger advancing with his conductor
towards the lodge of the principal chief,, to whom
he 'was nearly related^

The mien and bearing of the Osage, as he en-
tered the lodge, were alone sufficient to secure,
for him a courteous invitation to^it in the plhce
of honour, while the Crow who had been his
prisoner briefly narrated to the head chief the
circumstances under which the stranger visited
his camp. <

The pipe of friendship having been smoked
in due form, the Crow chief whispered a few
words in the ear of a youth beside hiin, who dis-
appeared immediately, and the party sat in si-
lence imtil he returned, accompanied by an in-
dividual whose appearance was singular in the
extreme; his head was of an enormous size, and
covered with black shaggy hair; his features
were coarse and forbidding, nor was their te-
pression improvea oy a patch of leather plaster-
ed over the cavity which had once been occupi-
ed by his left eye ; his shoulders were broad, and
his arms of unusual length, his stature was
scarcely five feet, and his legs were bandy, with
clumsy knees like those of a bnfialo-buli ; this
unsightly ogre rejoiced in the name of Besha-
ro-Kata, signifying in the Crow language, "the
little bison,'' but he was commonly called ** Be>
sha," or the "Bison," the diminutive termina-
tioB being omitted.

His origin was involved in a mystery that nei-
ther be nor any one else could satisfactorily ex-
plain, for he had been bom in that wild region
watered by the Arkansas, and his mother, a
Comanche woman, was said to have divided
her favours^ previous to the birth of Besha, be-
tween a half-breed trader to Santa F6, and a run-
away negro from one of the southern slave-
states: she died while he i^as yet an infant, and
as he nad never been owned or claimed by either
of his rrauted fathers, it was a miracle that he
ever lived to manhood.

In his early years, he hovered about the hunt-
ing parties of Osages, Comanches, Pani-^picas,
and other tribes, who frequented the region
where he had been left to shift for himself, and
at other seasons none knew whether he lived,
upon roots; berries, and honey, or wandered t6
tribes yet more remote from his birth-place,

■bribes- itu» tuage m an aneient sign of snbiection and
lumago preralent tbroughont the Eiut ; and Locke men-
tions it as being ** practised bjr some Indians to this day.*'

* It is a frequent custom among the Mtssoori Indians to
sketch upon the interior of a bison-robe the various battles
im whiM they havo fought and oon^uered.

He was never known, either in summer or win-
ter, to wear any other dress than a bison-skin
< with the hair outwards, in the centre of which
he cut a hole, and passing his head ttirough the
aperture, wore this uncouth ^in like the Poncha
of the Mexicans. From these early rambling
haitits, he had picked up a smattering of many
Indian dialects, and of tnese the Osage was one
with which he was the most familiar ; he enjoy-
ed a high reputation among the Crows, not on^
from his being often useful as an interpreter, \ni
because he was, without exception, the most
skilful horse-stealer in the whole region between
the Arkansas and the mountains. He was als«
deeply versed in the knowledge of all the prop-
erties of plants, roots, and herbs, so much so
thatj unless fame wronged him, more than one
of his enemies had died by the agency of subtle*
poison. Such was the personase, who fixsne
hiB single cunning eye upon Mah^ga, inquifed,
on the part of the Crows, his object in paying ''.
them a visit. The conversation, rendered into/-
English, was in substance as follows:

B6tha. " Has the Wasfaashe come to hunt and
trap among the Stony Mountains 1"

Mahi^a. " He has not; he has come towards
the settmg sun becanse the enemies on his patL
were too many for him — he wished for peace."

B. "Has the Washashe a name in-hi^
tribe 1" -

M. "He has a name; when the war-post is,
struck, Mah^a is not silent," said Ibe ehiel,
haughtily.

£. "Mahegal" repeated the horse-stealer, to
whom the name was evidently not unknown.
" Mah^ga, the Red-hand !— does he wander so
far from his village 1"

' M. " He wanders, but there b Great Medi-
cine in his lodge; blood has been on his path,
and his enemies do not langh."

B. '* Who are the men with whom Mah^g*
has dug up the hatchet I**

AT. " PalNs-faces, and cowardly Red-skinS|
who are their friends."

When this reply was translated, a great sen-
sation was visible among the Crows, several of
whom whispered together. After receiving a
few instructions from the Chief, Besha proc^d-
ed with his inquiry.

" Are' the Pale-uices on the trail of Mah^a V

M. " They arc."

B. " How many T

M. " Mah^ does not know.

B, " Is there a pale-faced warrior with them,
young, and tall, riding a dark horse, very swiA
and strong 1"

M, " There is," said the Osage, astonished in
his turn at hearing Reginald thus accurately de-
scribed by the interpreter.

Again there was a murmur and eoBsultatioa
amon^ the Crows, after which Besha thus pro-
ceeded:

*< What is the wish of Mah^ga 1 the Upsaro-
ka ears are open."

M, " He wishes to make friends with then\
to join his strength to theirs, to drive these Pale-
face thieves out of the Crow country. Mah6ga*a
i^rriors are few, bnt they are not squaws ; hia
hands are not empty; he has presents for the
chiefs, and he wilt not forget the interpreter.-'
He added, sinking his voice almost to a whis-
per : " He has many things, enough to make
the tribe rich, hid in a cave far to the south ; if
the Crow will be his brother, he shall find that
Mah^a has an open hand."

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

137

The ennnin? chief was atrare of the thieving

ropensities of the Upsaroka, and he purposely
hrew out this last hint that they might be indu-
ced to spare his baggage, in the hope of ulti-
nately possessing themselves of the more im-
portant treasure m his '* c&che." Nor was his
stratagem without effect, for the discovery and
possession of the contents of that c&che became
forthwith the principal object of the Crow chief;
and the readiest mode of attaining it was to
make friends with the party who could alone
guide him to it.

Fortune had in this instance been more pro-
pitious to Mahiga than he deserved, for, as the
reader has probably conjectured, he had fallen
in with that very Upsaroka band, a detachment
of which had been so roughly handled a few
days before, by Reginald Brandon and the Del-
awares under his comn^and.

The high contracting parties being thus united
-1)7 fhe strong ties of avarice, and revenge against
^ common enemy, an offensive and defensive al-
liance was entered into immediately. Mah^ga
soon discovered the motive which impelled his
new friends so strongly to espouse his cause,
and was thereby satisfied that, for the present at
least, be might trust them. Before nightfall, the
white tent of Prairie-biid was pitched at the
edge^of the Upsaroka camp, and tne Osages took
Jip their quarters around it, so that none could
leave or enter it unperceived by them.

ceived a visit from the Crow chief, who, accom-
panied by Besha, came ostensibly to show him
coortesyj but in reality to inspect his packages,
horses, men, and equipments; and, if possible,
to solve the mystery of the Great Medicine in
the white tent. The Osage warriors, strong,
veather-beaten men, every one provided with a
tiie in addition to the usual arms of an Indian,
had no reason to fear the scrutinizing eye of the
Crow; indeed, tlye latter began already to cal-
ealate how he might best avail himself of their
aid in an expedition which he meditated against
his hereditary enemies, the Black-Feet.

After the pipe had been smoked, and food set
before his guests, Mah^ga desired one of the
smaller packages to be opened, from which he
selected a blanket, and spreading upon it vari-
ous beads and trinkets, presented the whole, in
token of friendship, to the Upsaroka chief, who
seemed highly delighted with the gift.
• His expressions of gratitude, conveyed through
Besha, were unbounded. He did not, however,
think it requisite to express, at the same time,
his vehement desire to become the possessor or
all the goods and chattels belonging to the Osage ;
neither did the latter forget to propitiate the in-
terpreter, whom he presented with a knife, and
ornamented sheath, both of which were gra-
ciously accepted.

The Crow was resolved not to leave the spot
until he had solved the enigma of the mysterious
tent; and finding that his guest still kept silence
on the subject, he directed Besha to use his best
exertions towards the gratification of his curi-
osity. An opportunity being^afforded by the ap-
pearance of Lita, who went out to draw some
water from the stream, the interpreter inquired
Whether that woman was the " Great Medicine,"
of which he had spoken.

Mah^a, who vh^ls desirous of impressing the
Crows with a due respect for Prairie-bird, shook
his head, replying, " That is the slave of the
Great Medicine."

Besha, "Is the Great Medicine a enief— -a
wise man 1"

Mahega. ^* Ko : it is in the form of a woman ;
but its power is very great. It talks with the
Great Spirit, and the Wahconda* listens to its
speech !"

Besha. "Many are the medicine-men who
talk wilh the Great Spirit ; they see dreams, and
give counsel to the warriors and chiefs ; there is
no new Medicine ^ere."

" My brother speaks truth," said the Osage,
smUing scornfully. " But if the medicine-men
of the Upsaroka call to the sun, will he come out
of his path, or hide his face at their words V*

Having thus spoken, Mah^ga lowered his
voice, as if afraid of being overheard by the mys-
terious tenant of the tent, and related to the won-
dering Besha the circumstances attending the
late eclipse.

The interpreter having given the explanation
to his chief, they looked at each other in speech-
less astonishment ; for not only was there an air
of truth in the statement of Mah^a, but the
Crows having themselves observed the mystery
of the darkened sun, were thereby led to listen
with believing awe to the wonded'ul disolosure
ma^e by the ^age.

Perceiving his advantage, the latter again re-
lapsed into silence, which was broken, after a few
mmutes, by the interpreter, who inquired, on the
part of his chief, whetner the Great Medicine ot

Early on the following ifioming Mahga6 re- the tent would receive a present from him. To

this the cautious Osage replied, that the daughter
of the Unknown cared not for the things belong*
ing to other women ; but that her smile and her
good words, would bring prosperity to those with
whom she dwelt, while her curse would ensure,
their destruction ; on which account it would not
do any barm if the Upsaroka were to offer a pres-
ent to her Medicine.

The latter now finding that, during this visit
at least, his curiosity would not be gratified by a
sight of the mysterious dweller in the tent, arose
and took a courteous leave of the Osage chief,
who remained for some time ruminating abstract-
edly over his future plans, and the probability of
their ultimate success.

Scarcely half an hour had elapsed ere Besha
returned, accompanied by two young Indians, one
of whom led a wild horse, which he presented on
the part of his chief to Mah^ga; and the other
was the bearer of a large package of beaver-skins
of the finest quality, which he laid down at the
door of the tent, and retired, casting back uneasy
glances, apparently relieved at having safely ex-
ecuted a commission firaught with danger.

Mah^ga presented each of the youths with a
handsome knife, and Besha with a mirror, where-
in he contemplated his cyclopean countenance
with undisguised satisfaction ; so long, indeed,
did he continue this admiring self-inspection, that
the two young Crows left him engaged in it, and
returned to their quarters.

They had not been long gone before the inter-
preter commenced a confidential conversation ,
with the Osage chief, during which each endeav-
oured, with little success on either side, to over-
reach the other; at the same time, the conference
was not without its satisfactory issue to both par-

* Am the Great Spirit is designated by the Delawares,
Chippeways, S&kis, and other tribes (m this side of the
Mississippi by the name of " Manitt6," or " Manitou/' fa-
miliar to every reader of Transatlantic travel or romance,
so is he known among the Osages, Omahaws, loways, ai4
other Missovh tribes, by the designation of Wil <m W
or "Master of Life.'*

<38

THE PRARIB-BIRD,

ties} for Mah^ aseertained that the Grows
▼iewed the mixed band ofWhites and Dela wares
whh feelings as hostile as his own. and that they
were as deeply impressed as he comd desire with
aw« for the mysterious powers of Prarie-bird.
On the ot&er hand, Besha satisfied himself that
Qis own services would be almost indispensable
tbsthe Osage, and that the latter was neither un-
willing nor unable to reward them liberally; so
that after a complimentarjr conversation of some
engtb, these two rogues parted, with m^y ex-
{H-essions of mutual regara and esteem.

Scarcely was the inteipreter out of sight, when
Mah^ga sprung from the ground to examine more
closely the steed presented to him by the Crow
chief. It was a strong, high-mettled hay colt, un-
tamed, and almost untameaUe ; if the truth must
be told, the latter had^ven ii to his guest because
neither he nor any of his warriors could sabdne
its violent and vicious spirit, although the Crows
are renowned among the Indian nations as bold
sud expert horsemen.

On whatever side Mah^ga endeavoured to ap-
proach to mount it, the horse struck fiercely at
mm, using both hind and fore feet with equal ra^-
pidity;-but the Osage, penetrating at once the
motives of the Crow's liberality, smiled in disdain
of the shallow trick, and. seizing his opportuni-
ty, threw himself upon the wild, unsaddled ani-
mal, despite of whose furious plunging and re-
sistance, he sat unmoved like a centaur; and ply-
ing his whip and heel with unmitigated severity,
compelled itto gallop at full speed over the prai-
rie, until he thought fit to bring it back to the
camp, wearied, breathless, and subdued. Then
throwing the halter to one of his men, he quietly
lesumed his pipe, leaving the Crow chief ^nd his
people to draw their own conclusions from what
they had seen.

CHAPTER XXXIV.'

dkmtslBli^ vaiioiu ineideols tbat occurred to the party
foUowii^ the Trail.— Plots nod Counterplots^ and a d^
cussion upon Oratory, which is very mach out of
place, and, fortunately for the reader, is' not very loag.

Therk is scarc^y any position or occasion in
life more gratifying to a young and generous
spirit, than when it finds itself, for the first time,
efttrosted with a high responsibility. The elas-
tic mind, fsGr ffom succumbing under the un-
wonted burden, springs upward with increased
vigour to resist its pressure ; and the trials and
difficulties which threaten to overwhelm it, only
serve to call forl^ and multiply its energies.
Such was the case wiih Wingenund, who now
found himself, although not yet seventeen yesn's
of age, leading a galiant band on a trail,— a task
which is at all times the greatest trial of an In-
dian warrior's skill ; and, if successful, lays the
foundation of his fame. The issue at stake was,
in this instance, heightened by the importanee
of the object to be attained, and by the remark-
able circumstance that he had ventured to differ
from, and overrule, the opinion of his elder
brother, the most sagacious warrior of the tribe.

Fully impressed with the serious responsibili-
ty that he had incurred, the yoith set forth
upon the trail with a gravity of demeanour
which contrasted strongly with his almost boy-
ish years. Yet, while bis keen eye darted from
point to point, aufkr'mg not a blade of grass to |

escape its scrutiny, his coantenance wore s
beaming look of confidence, that imparted its
cheering infiuence to the whole party.

For some hours he marched rapidly forward
with the assured step of a man who was tread-
ing a familiar path. Atto followed at no great
distance, next to whom, onrthe trail, came Regi-
nald, with Ethelstcm, Baptiste, and the other
Whites, the line being dosed by the Delawares, ^
who brought up the rear. It may easily be
imagined that R^inald bent his eyes anxiously
on the path ; but although frequent traces were
discernible o( the passage of men, as well as of
various animals, he could not diseover the slight-
est indication of the marks for which he Ioo.ked ;
neither did the observation of the more ezperi*
eneed Baptiste meet with any better success.

When Wingenund reached the streamlet, on
the sandy edge of which he had before noticed
the li^t tread of a foot, which in spite of its di-
mension, he believed to be that of Prairie-biixl
or her attendant, he baited the party, and sum-
moned Atto to a close examination of the trail.
Stooping over it« the Indian looked long and
earnestly, afler which he jshook his head, as if
dissatisfied, and muttering a few words, the
meaning of which Baptiste was not near enough
to catch. Wingenund made no reply, and cross-
ing the brook, resumed the trail on its opposite
bank.

" Does Atto find the mark of women's ieet on
the sand V* inquired Baptiste.

" He is not sulre ; bison have passed over the
marks, end trodden them," was the evasive re-
ply, and the party poceeded on the track.

Nothing of any importance oeeured for some
time to enliven the tedium of the march. The
sanguine hopes of Reginald had been cheeked
by what had fallen from Atto, of whose acute-
ness he justly entertained a high opinion. Ethe^
ston seemed buried in deep redaction ; and even
the comic sallies of Monsieur Perrot failed to
excite any mir& in those to whom they were
addressed. *

" Ethelston, I fear that I acted imprudently,"
said his friend, in a low voice, "when I preferred
the counsel of this youth to the more experienced
opinion of War-Eagle ; yet there was something
in his manner that I could not resist."

" Doubtless," replied Ethelston, " the counsel
of the elder warrior was entitled to the greater
weight ; and yet I do not think that he would '
himself have placed this detachment under tha
guidance of Wingenund, unless he felt sure that
the latter had strong grounds for the tenacity
with which he clung to his opinion."

'' I wouM willingly peril my life on his truth
and fidelity," said Reginald. " The question is,
whether on this occasion he may not have been
led into some error by the vei7 eagerness of his
wishes, and the ardour of his temperament."

Scarcely had he uttered these woiids, when
Wingenund stooped to pick up a small object
which his quick eye had caught beside the rail,
in another minute he placed it in the hand of
Reginald, while a triumphant smile Ut up his
animated features. The object referred to was
a slip of folded paper, damp with the dew which
had fallen upon it. Reginald x)pened its folds,
then gazed upon it in silence, with a fixed look,
like one in a trace, while his powerful frame
trembled from head to foot. The paroxysm of

TH£ PRAIRIE. BIRD.

13t

excitement lasted only but for a montent, then
patting the slip of paper into the hand of EtheU
ston, he threw himself into the arms of Winge-
nand ; and, if a tear escaped him, it fell unseen
upon the bosom which he pressed with grateful
affection to his heart.

Meanwhile Ethelston made himself maslwr of
the secret which had produced an effect so sad-
den, as to cause the greatest astonishment in the
whole party, now gathered roand to ascertain
what had happened. He had read on the slip
the magical word " Follow,'' written in a distinct
l^ble hand, and every doubt as to the Prair^
hird having passed along the trail vanished in as
instant. This was no sooner made known to
Ihe hunters, and by Baptlste to the Detawares,
than a shout of triumph from the whole party
roused Reginald from the momentary weakness
into which he had been betrayed.

**Fcd)ow thee !" he exelaimed aloud, holding
the paper in his left hand, and grasping a ri^in
his right ; " Follow thee, dearest one ! yes, over
prairie and monntain, throogh vafiey and river,
in cold or in heat, in hunger or thirst, there are
those here who ^i\\ never cease to follow thee,
until thou art set free, and the injuries done to
thyself and thy kindred dearly avenged !*'

Again a shout of siympathetie enthusiasm

broke from the party, as they caught the words

of thdr leader, and cead on his glowing ooorite-

^ance the intense ardour of feelings,' too strong

to be repressed.

What must have been, in the meantime, the
sensations of the Delaware youth 1 The affec-
tionate yearnings of his heart towards his adopt-
ed brother, his deep anxiety for>his sister's i^te,
bis future fame as the rising war-chief of his
tribe, all these combined together to swe& the
triumph of the hour ; yet there was not visible
in his features the slightest appearance of grati-
fied pride or vanity ; and if his dark eye beamed
with a brighter histre, it was not so mueb with
self-congratulation at what he had dcme, as wHh
high aspirations for the glorious task before him-.

Ethelston, who had watched him closely, was
smrprised at his calm, unmoved demeanonr, and
whisp^^d to Baptiste, " Wingenund evinees Ht-
tie anxiety or emotion on this occasion ; and yet
this dndoobted token which he has fyand on the
trail must be a great triuilbpb to htm, after the
doubts expressed by so many warriors of great-
er experience."

*' lt*s partly the natur% and partly the train-
in' of the b(^," relied the Guide, leaning on his
long rifle ; the stronger his feelings the iesis will
he show 'em to another man. I reckon this^has
been one of the proudeet moments in his life,
yet, as you say, he looks almost as if Wd no-
thin' to do with the matter ; and he'd look the
same if the Osages were pinchin' his iSesh with
hot tongs. Wingenund is three years older now
f h^n he vras last month !"

** You are right, Baptiste," replidd Ethelston ;
:'*it is not daysj nor we^s, nOr months, bat
rough trials, brave deeds, and deep feelings that
make np the calendar of human life."

So saying, he sighed, and mosingTjr resumed
his place in the line of march, remembering in
how short a space of ^e Nina's unrequited'
love had, while she was still younger than ^e
.'ad of whom he was speaking, consigned her,
wasted and heait-broken, to the grave.

Again Wingenund moved swiftly forward on
the trail, and the whole party followed, theif
hopes excited, and their spirits raised by lh«
occurrence above related. Reginald walked si-
lently on, still clasping in his hand the magic
tMcen which bad conjured up hopes and thoughts
too deep for utterance. From time to time bisi
lips uneonsciousiy murmured *• Follow!" and
then the idea shot like fire through his brain,
that all his power to obey the dear behest hung
upon the sagacity of the youth who was nitw
trasing the steps of an enemy, skilled in 'all the
w^s of Indian warfare, and whose object it
clearly was to baffle pursuit.

Befbre the ctose of day the watcnfol perse-
verance of yiTingenund was again rewarded by
finding another of the slips of paper dropped 1^
Prairie-bird, which he brought, as before, to
ReginfUd. The magic '* Follow" again met his
longing eyes ; and as he announced it to tho
rest of the party, a joyful anticipation of sttcceas
pervaded every breast.

After a brief consultation with Atto, Wlnge-
nnnl now resolved to bait for the night, as the
incfeasing darkness rendered it impossible any
kmger to distinguish the trafl with aeeoracy ;
so the horses were picketed, the successiOD of
sentries arranged, and the party bivouaeked
under the shelter of two enormous pines, where
the preparations for a substantial supper wero
soon completed, Monsieur Penot taking ehargs
of that destined for Reginald and Ethelston,
while Bearskin and the other hunters prepared
a meal for themselves and the Delawares apart.
Wingenund was about to join the latter party ;
but at the earnest request of the two friends, he
placed himself beside them, Baptiste being in-
vited to sit down with them also.

It may be imagined that the conversation
turned chiefly upon the all-engrossing sobject%
of the pursuit in which they were engaged; and
Ethelston was struck by the change which be
observed in the demeanour of Wingenund ; for
the telter had now put off the gravity and some-
what haughty bearing of the aspiring warrior,
and had resumed the playful and touching sin-
pKeity of maimer that was natural to his yeu%
and accorded equally welt with the itoost feaU"
nine delicacy of his features, and the soft mels«
dy of his vcjoe. He took no pains to eoneeel
the pleasune with which he received the waiV)
and sincere encomiiim that Reginald passen
upon the patience and sagacity that he had dis
pkiyed hi hie arduous task.

^* Netis owes me no thanks," be saM, smiling
** Love for my sister and revenge on the Wash
ashees, who like cowards and false friends sleis
my kindred, — ^these lead me on the trail."

"It is not yolir eagerness, nor the strengtfc
of your motives that I call in question,'deai
Wingenund ; bat I am surprised that you ar*
able to follow so slight a trail without befaig de-
ceived by the trioke and devices of the Osage."

'* The ^ack Father has often toM me that
among the southern men there are dogs whs
can fc^ow the fbot of a man by day or night,
and will never leave the scent till they seise
him. If an antelope is wounded, the wolf will
hunt the track of her blood on the prairie till he
€nds her ; if a bison is killed, turkey-buzBarda
many in number, fly from far to the carcase^
though there ia no trail in the an- for them te

140

THE PRAIRIE- BIRD.

follow. Is it wonderftil that the Gireat Spirit
should bestow on the son of his ancient people
a gift enjoyed by these beasts and fowls V

" What you say is trtie," replied Reginald,
«( yet certainly ^e who live in settlements have
not these faculties ; 'at least we have them in a
v^ry inferior degree."

** The wise men of our nation have always
said that the eyes and ears of white men are
not good ; but the Black Father says that their
speech is not true, for that the Great Spirit has
made the ears and eyes of red and white o^en
alike, only the Pale-faces do not improve them
as we do by use."

" Your Black Father may say what he likes,"
Interposed Baptiste, " but I maintain that the
ears of a white man are no more like the ears
of a real Ingian than the paws of a bear are like
the legs of an antelope. I remember, though
it's now some twenty years ago, I was out on a
hunt in the North with a Delaware comrade ;
he Was called in the tribe * The-man-who-hears-
from-far ;'— to say truth, I thought he often pre-
tended to hear things that never happened* only
just to keep up his name. We had walked all
th^ morning, and having killed an elk, sat down
to cook it on the prairie. All at once he held
up his finger for me to keep silence ; and turn-
ing his head to listen, his countenance changed
and his ear pricked up like that of a scared doe.^
Nay, Master Reginald, you need net smile, for
it's as true as a gun-barrel ; and said I, * What's
the matter nbwV He made no answer, but
went a little way off; and lying down, put the
side of his head to the ground. He soon re-
turned, and told me that a * big canoe was com-
ing over the lake.* * What,' said I, * over that
lake we passed this morning beyond those high
woods V * Yes,* he replied, * the same ; I hear
Mie paddles dip in the water.* I laughed in his
lace, and told him he was dreaming; for the
l^e was, maybe, two miles off; but he declared
that he had heard the paddles as plain as he now
heard my voice. I tried to listen, but could not
hear a sound ; however, I knew that if he was
right, the canoe would he Ml of enemies, seein*
that we had no particular friends then in the
Bahcotah country, and I thought it better to be-
lieve him for once ; so we put more sticks on the
fire, to make as great a smoke as we could, and
then ran off to the top of a hill, where a big pine-
tree grew ; and as~it was about half way between
the fire and the lake, we clomb in among its
branches, where we could have a good look-out
an both. We remained some time without hear-
ing or seeing anything ; and I began to conceive
that my comrade had made a fool of me, as well
as of himself, when we saw five or six Sioux
devils peep out of the brush at the edge of the
prairie, where they pointed to the smoke that
rose from our fire, and began to creep cautious-
ly towards it.**

At this point the narrative of the Guide was
unexpectedly interrupted by a sharp cry uttered
Dy MoDsieur Perrot, who jumped up from his
seat, and capered like a harlequiui making at the
same time the most doleful grimaces and ejacu-
lations. Wingenund was the fijrst to perceive
tnd to explain to Reginald the cause of the un-
fortunate valet's distress, in doing which he
Uinghed with such hearty inexpressible mirth,
Jhat the tears started from bis eyes. '

It appeared that Monsieur Ferret, in his anx*
iety to hear Baptiste's adventure, had uncon-
sciously edged himself nearer and nearer to the
fire, by the side of which was a «raaH pile of
dry burrs and prickly adhesive twigs; while
sitting upon these, and listening intently to the
narrative, they had become accidentally ignited,
and not only burnt him as he sat, but adhered
to his nether garments when be jumped up,
where they continued to crackle and smoke in
spite of the efforts which he made to disengage
himself from them. To add to his terror, be re-
membered at this critical juncture that there
was a powder-fiask in the hinder pocket of his
jacket ; a circumstance which he communicated
to his master with renewed exclamations, and
unavailing attempts to rid himself of the dan-
gerous magazine. On hearing this, Ethelston
emptied a vessel full of water over a blanket
that lay beside him, in which he immediately
envelojped the alarmed valet, and by this ready
application of one element freed him from the
more serious danger to be apprehended from the
other. '

As soon as the gravity of the party was in
some degree restored, Reginald requested the
Guide to conclude the narrative which had been
so unexpectedly interrupted^ exfH'essing at the
same time his curiosity to learn how Baptiste
and his comrade had extricated themselves from
their unpleasant position among the branches
of the pine-tree.

" Why, you see, Master Reginald, as soon as
they were fairly busied in making their way to
the fire which we had left burning, we slipped
down the tree, and struck into the wood, where
we had no difiiculty in finding their back-trail to
the lake, and creeping cautiously towards the
shore, we found that the hot-headed fools had
left no one to watch their canoe, which we spied
under the boughs of an alder that hung over the
leke ; so we just stuck a piece of stick in the
ground, with a Delaware mark on it to vex 'em
on their return, when we paddled away to the
other side ; and having bored two holes in the
canoe, and broken the paddles, we went on our
way ; and since that time I've always held my
own opinion about an Indian's ears, and I'm not
likely to change it now.** , '

Whether the Guides story wa^ tedious, or
that the fatigues of the day had produced their
effects upon his hearers, certain it is, that soon
after its conclusion both the ears and eyes ot
the greater portion were closed in sleep, and
nothing having occurred during the night to
alarm those who had watched, the whole par-
ty set forward as soon as daylight broke on the
following morning.

Wingenund had no difficulty in making out
the trail until he reached the banks of the river,
in crossing which Mah^ga had taken so much
pains to mislead his pursuers. Here' the youth
halted, and Informed Reginald that he might
look for game during the remainder of the day,
as it would be necessary for him and Atto to
search for War-Eagle*s party, and^with them to
find the right trail onAhe opposite bank.

The two Belawares started at a rapid pace
to the westward, bestowing as they went care-
/ul attention to the various tracks of |>i8on and
other animals which had crossed at the different
fords that they passed. After a toilsome marok

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

141

9f some hours, they fell in with War-Eagle's
party, whom they found occupied in a like in-
Testigation. The chief learnt his young broth-
er's success with undisguised pleasure ; his na-
ture was too noble to entertain a thought of
jealousy ; and one of the first wishes of his
heart was to see Wingenund take his place
among the first warriors of the tribe. He had
ascertained beyond a doubt, that although the
horses of the Osages had crossed the river op-
posite to the trail which he had been following,
tl^y had not travelled far in that direction, but
had returned to the bed of the river for the ob>
yious purpose of bafiUng pursuit ; and the Bel-
awares now crossed to the northern bank, and
after mihute examination of every path and
track which led from it, they arrived in the
evening at the point from whence Wingenund
started, confident that the right trail must, if
the Osages had crossed at all, be at same spot
lower down the stream.

The whole party, now again reunited, encamp-
ed for the mght, and related, over their evening
meal, the indications and tracks which they had
remarked on their respective lines of march.
At the earliest dawn War-Eagle was again afoot,
and after an -hour's patient search, he struck
a trail, which he pronounced without hesita-
ton, to be that of the Osages. As it lead
through a wooded and hilly region along the
base of the Great Mountains, abounding in nar-
row and dangerous passes, every precaution
was used against ambush or surprise; War-
Eagle^ Wingenund, and Atto leading the ad-
vance, with several of the most swift and skil-
ful of their warriors, and the white men, who
brought up the rear, being cautioned against
straggling or falling behind the main body.

Another slip of paper found upon the trail,
bearing Prairie-hird's inspiring watchword
*' Follow," raised the spirits of the party to the
highest pitch. They halted at midday to refresh
themselves and their horses for an hour, un-
der the shade of some spreading cedars, above
which rose a high conical peak, on the sides of
which were scattered a few dwarf oaks and
other timber of stunted growth. Obeying a sig-
nal from War-Eagle, Reginald climbed with him
to the summit of this hill, whence they could
command an extensive view of the sand hills
and undulating ocean of prairie to the east-
ward, while above them to the westward tow-
ered the^lofty and stQl distant mountain-tops,
clad in their bright mantle of eternal snow.

But it was not to enjoy the splendour of this
magnificent prospect that the Delaware had toil*
ed up this steep ascent, or that he now cast his
restless and searching eye towards the north
and east horizon: he had another object in
view. Neither did he seem to have altogether
failed in its attainment, for after gazing long and
intently upon a spot to the northward, his coun^
tenance brightened, and he desired Reginald,
who was unable Xo distinguish so distant a
speck with the naked eye, to examine it care-
fully with his telescope, for that he would see
something there that would make his heart
beat.

Reginald did so, and having succeeded in
catching the indicated object with his glass, he
exclaimed, <* War-Eagle, my brother, you are
right lean see them plainly, one—two—three

— «ye, twentT Indian lodges, and the wUie tent
among them.^ Heaven be praised for all its
mercies, we shall save her yet I"

For a few moments the chief was silent, then '
he said, " Let my brother use the glass again,
and say how many lodges he can count."

" There seem to be very many," said Regi
nald, after a careful survey, *' more than fifty
but I cannot count them, for the tent is on a
small hill, and some may be hid behind it."

'' Mah6ga smokes the pipe with a powerful
tribe," said the Delaware, musing ; and the two
friends descended the hill, each contemplating
according to the bent of their respective charac-
ters, the difficulties yet to be encountered, aad
the means by which those difficulties might be
overcome.

Meanwhile ft must not be supposed that Ma-
h^ga remained in idle security a resident in the
Crow encampment ; he appreciated too justly
the skill and perseverance of War-Eagle to sup-
pose that the latter would not strike and follow
his trail, he therefore turned his attention to the
strenthening of his alliance with his new friends
by every means in his power. In this endea
vour his own sagacity was admirably, though
perhaps unconsciously, seconded by the win
ning manners and character of Prairie-bird, foi
the Crows, who had been prepared to look upon
her with a feeling akin to dread, were agreea-
bly surprised by her extreme beauty, and the
gentleness of her demeant>ur.

The cunning Osage, knowing that she could
only be drawn from the strict seclusion in which
she lived by her never-failing willingness to al-
leviate suffering, had caused several children,
and others afflicted with illness, to be brought
to her, and she never declined giving them such
remedies from her remaining stock of medicine
as she thought most Ukely to afford relief •
The general success of her simple pharmacy
fully answered the expectations of Mahega, in
the increasing anxiety daily evinced by the
Crows to guard and protect the ** Great Medi-
cine of the tent ;" and thus, while obeying the
dictates of her own gentle and humane feeling,
the maiden little kAewthat she was strengthen-
ing the cords of her captivity.

Neither did Mahega neglect to take every
precaution against an attack or surprise on the
part of War-Eagle and his party. Although
ignorant of their precise force, he knew tfa^t
they would in all probability be well armed, and
was far from satisfied with the position of the
present encampment occupied by the Crows.
After conversing once or twice with Besha,
and the judicious admixture of a few presents
to that <2t>interested personage, he learnt that
there was at a distance of half a day's march to
the northward a farourite strong hold#of the
Crows, to which they frequently resorted when
attacked by an enemy too numerous to be re-
sisted in the open pkdn, and it was represented
to be in a neighbourhood afiTording abundance
of game, and a plentiful supply of pasture for
thehorses.

Mahega found it not a very difficult task to
persuade the Crow chief to withdraw to this
post, representing to him the formidable equip
ment of the Delawares aided by their white al
lies, aad hcurged him also to send a few of his >
best runners to haog aboijt the tndl by which he

lis

TH£ PRAIBlE-BlBrD.

had Mmadf aiviTed, $o tbstJtixnely n«>tice ^th^
enemy's approftoh might be received.

The Crow aequieaeed in both auggestionst
' and the united band moved off* aeoordingiy te
the po8t> above referred to, which liiey readied
in the afternoon of the same day ; it was a co-
Bioal hiil, covered on one side with low juniper
boshes, and rising suddenly out of the prairie
at a distance of several miles ftom the higher
range of mountains to the west ; a few hundred
yards further to the east was another height of '
similar elevation, but of less circumference, and
betweenr these two lay a valley of extreme fer*-
tility, watered by a stream so cool and clear,
|)iat jt besp^e at once the mountain source
whence it flowed ; the eastern side of this sec-
ond hill was almost perpendicular, so as to be
secure against any attack from that quarter :
while an enemy approaching from the vaUey
vvQuld be exposed to missiles shot from either
height.,

Mah^ga saw at. a glance the strength of the
position, and propos^ to the chief that he, with
his Osages, should garrison the smaller height,
ieaying the larger hill and the intermediate vid^
ley to be occupied by the Crows.

This arrangement being agreed upon, the
tent of Prairie-bird was pitch^ near the sum-
mit, on a spot where the ground gently sloped
to the westward, and a few scattered oaks,
cedars, and pines aflbrded not only a partial
shelter from the rays of the suu, but a sufficient
supply of fuel for cooking the venison and bison
meat, which the hunters had brought in abun-
dantly. Some twenty lodges of the Crows
were placed upon the opposite aad larger hei^t ;
these consisted chiefly of the principal braves
ami warriors; the intenbediate valley being
occupied by the remainder of the band, a^ an
. ample space was left for picketing tbe h&mes at
night between the two hills.

On arriving at her new quarters, Prairie-bird
could not avoid being struck by the singularity,
as wdl as by the beauty of the scenery. It was
evident that the face of the sandstone rock,
above which her tent was pitched, had been
eaten away by the action Of water and the ele-
ments ; and she imagined that ere many years
should pass, the precipitous cliff on its eastern
front would partially M in, and leave in its
{^ce a brpken and turreted ruin, such as she
"^ had before noted and admired on the western
borders of the great prairie. It was a great
relief to her that she was so much by herself;
for the lodge of Mahega aad his followers was
{»tched somewhat lower down the hill than
her own teat, and she was yet further removed
from the dirt and otiher annoyances of the Crow
k)dges. This was^ indeed, a great luxury, as
the quantity of bison^meat brought into the
camp on the first day'js hunt was so great, that
the Upsaroka women were spreading and drying
it in every direction : and as these ladies are
not usually very particular in removdng the
ofial, the odour thence arising in the valley
below was not the sweetest that could be ima-<
gined.

Mah^a was in high good humour in conse-
quence of the successful result of his arrange-
ments ; for he now occupied a post net only
well protected against the attadc of an enemy,
Iwtwtwro his baggage ooaM not be purloined

by the light-filtered ymiths, who are so prober*
biaUy abundant among the Crows. But how-
ever secure he might feel, he did not relax his
usual vigilance, in which he was zealously sec-
onded by Toweno ; and whenever the one was
c^sent from the garrison/ even ibr a short time,
the other always remained at honxeon the watfjfi.
He renewed, also, a rilde breastwork of unhewn
logs, which had been thrown up by tt}e Crows
on some former occ£»ion, andovhich afforded a
shelter, from behind which he and his men
could fire upon an approaching enemy without
being themselves exposed. *

They had not long been settled in their new
quarters before the detachment which had been
sent to reconnoitre returned to report that they
had seen the united, band of white men and
Delawares, about thirty in number, advancing
cautioudy along the base of the hills towards
the Upsaroka camp. The scouts had recognised
Reginald as the person who had killed one of
their principal warriors ; and the announcement
of his ^>proach was received with a yell that
showed haw determinatdy the Crows were
bent on revenge.

A war-council was immediately heldt which
Mahega was summoned to attend ; and although
the wary Osage kept himself in the bad^proundt
aad showed no disposition to offer his advice
until twice pressed by Besba to do so, it was
soon evident that his spirit would rule the meet-
ing, and that on him would devolve the conduct
of the struggle in which tt^y must soon expect
to be engaged : such was the impression already
made upon his new allies by his gigantic stat-
ure, and the air of command that accompanied
his every word and gesture.

Unless the advantage of nun^rs was to be
very great on his side, Mahega did not augur
favourably of the result of an open conflict be-
tween the Crows and the small but well-ap-
pointed force opposed to them. He formed a
just estimate of the skill and aagacity of War-
Eagle, and of the impetuous courage of Regi-
nald Brandon. He hated ^both, especially the
latter, with all the bitter intensity of which his
nature wa$ capable ; and resolved Uiat no strat-
s^pem should be 1^ untried to heap upon them
every species of suflTering and disgrace.

With this view, he conferred long, through
the medium of Besha, with the leading warriors
of the prows as to the nature of the ground in
the neighbompheod of the enemy's line of march ;
being determined, if pos8ible» to lead them into
an ambosh ; or at least to attack them in some
defile <fr pass, where the bow and arrow would
be a better match ibr the rifle than in the open
plain. Not being altogether satisfied with the ^
re^es which he received, he declined giving
his opinion until he should have reconnoitred
the district in person, and set forth without
delay, accompanied by the dwarfish interpreter
and two Crow warriors, all being mounled on
swift horses.

Havmg reached the base of the first range et
hills, the Crow who acted as guide struck in|9
a narrow winding ravine ; af(er following the
course of which for some distance, the parly
emerged upon an elevated table-land, which
th^ crossed at full speed, and found themselves
at the base of a second range of hills, more
broken and abrupt than the tot. Here the

THE PIlAIfilB-BIRD.

IM

guide and Mah^ga dismounted, and having]
concealed the horses, and left them behind the '
projection of a rocic in charge of the other two,
they climbed with some difficulty to the brow
of a sandstone cliff, whence they could com-
mand an extensive view of the region to the
southward. '

Creeping cautiously to the edge of the height,
and screening themselves behind the junipers
and scanty bushes growing there, they could
easily diatinguiBh the camp of the Delawares
and white oaeo in the Talley beiow. The band
had come to a halt, and were evidently engaged
in refreahmg themselves and their horses veith
their midday meal.

The Osage chief glared upon them like a
tiger OB his anticipated prey. He examined
& ground in front and rear and flank of their
position ; he noted the breadth of the pass where
the vaOey opened out upon the' plain beyond,
and queationed his guide closely as to the route
whieh they would probably take in advancing
towards the Crow encampment.

We will leave him for a time to pursue these
iavestigatiOQS, while we return to Ranald and
War-Eagle, whom we left deliberating as to the
most advieaUe course to be pursued for the res-
eae of Prairie-bird.

The Delaware diief having been soon in-
linrmed by his scouts of the enemy's retreat to
aaothor and a stronger position, lost no time in
pushing forward his party to the point in the
valley where it had (as above mentioned) been
descried by Mahega and his guide. Reginald
and the other white men were at a loss to imag-
ine wfay War-Eagle had selected for his halt a
spot where a dense thibket on the side of each
hin seemed to off^ to an enemy, familiar with
the country, a favourable opportunity for attack-
ing him unawares ; and even Baptiste, when
questioned upon the subject, shook his head,
saying, " Wait till to-morrow ; we shall know
by that time what hole the coon is making for.'*

As for the Delawares, they ate their bison-
meat and smoked their pipe with as much in-
difference as if they were in the heart of their
own hunting-ground, being confident in the skill
of their leader, from the experience of many a
foray and fight. The latter, having thrown for-
ward two or three of his men as outposts, to
guard against surprise, summoned Wingenund,
to wtHMD' he gave, in an earnest voice, some
minute direetions, which did not reach the ears
of o^ers in the party ; and the youth, as soon
at he had received them, went up to Reginald,
and said to him, « WiU Netis lend Nekimi to
Wingenund ; he will he back before the moon
iB up, — and if he meets the Upsarokas, he most
leave them behind."

Reginald testified his willing assent to the
youth's request, and in a few minutes Nekimi
was bounding over the prairie beneath his light
burden with a speed that soon brought him to a
point whence he ceuld command a view of the
two heights, upon and between which the Crows
were encamped.

, The sand-hills in that region project io many
places from the base of the Great Mountains in-
to the open {dain, like the promontories of an
indented shore into the ocean, and it was by
skirting one of these until he.reached its extrem-
ity that he continued to watch the encampment

of the Crows without being observed by theii
scouts ; for several hours he stood motionless
by the side of Nekimi, under the shade of a pine,
with that untiring patience which 'tenders as
Indian unequaUed as a spy, when he saw fouv
horsemen emerge from the camp, and gallop
off towards the base of the mountains. As soon
as they entered a valley where they were screen-
ed from his view, he put Nekimi to his speed,
and by a shorter cut reached the head of the
same valley before them, then leaving his horse
behind a thicket of junipers* he crept forward,
and hiding himself in some brushwood, wait^
for the passing of the horsemen.

As the roughness of the ground had compel^
ed them to slacken their speed, he had no diffi-
culty in recognhsing Mahega, but the features
of the misshapen interpreter and the Crow war
rioTS were, of course, strange to him. He watch*
ed the Osage chief and his companion as they
climbed the hill, from the top of which they
made their observations of the Delaware camp ;
and as they returned and remounted their hor-
ses, they passed so near to his hiding-place thai
the youth distinctly heard twf> or three words
which Mahega spoke to Besha in the Osage
tongue. Aa soon as they were out of sight he
hastened to the spot where he had left Nekimi,
and returned at full speed to make his report to
War-Eagle.

The chief had evidently been awaiting with
some impatience the return of his messenger,
and when he received the intelligence which the
latter brought back, he said, ** It is well, let Ne-
tis and the chiefs be called to council-*— there is
no time to lose."

A few minutes sufficed' to assemble the lead-
ers, who were expected to take a part in the
deliberations about to be entered upon, all of
them being well aware of their vicinity to the
enemy of whom they had so long been in pur-
suit; but when called upon to express their
opinion aa to the course to be adopted, a mani-
fest reluctance prevailed, arising probably from
the vrild and rugged nature of the region, and
(torn their ignorance, of the strength of the band
with which Mah6ga had allied himself After a
brief pause, Baptiste, who was thoroughly versed
in the character of the Delawares, arose and
said, ** Are the tongues of the warriors tied 1
the sun will not stay in his path, neither will
the grass grow beneath the feet of the Washa-
shee and Upsaroka ; the white men and the
Lenap6 wait to hear the voice of the Great
Chief— let War-^a^e speak."

Thus called upon, the Delaware leader came
forward to address the council. He painted the
wrongs that his tribe had suffered at the hands
of the Osages, the treachery and cruelties prac-
tised on their wives and children ; then he dwelt
on the spoiling of their lodges, the abduction of
Prairie-bird, and the attempted murder of Win-
genund. Having thus roused the passions of
his Delaware hearers, he gradually brought them
back to a calmer state of reflection, by repre-
senting to them the dangers and difficulties of
their present position, owing to the alliance
formed by their implacable enemy with the Up-
saroka, who knew every pass and dangerous
defile of the country through which they were
mhrching, and he hnpressed upon them the ne-
cessity ^ their having recourse to stratagem in

144

TH£ PRAIRIE-BIRD.

order to make ap for their deficiency in numbers
and in local knowledge. He then proceeded to
unfold bis plan of operations, which (as after-
wards explained by Baptiste to Reginald and
bis friend) was nearly in the following words :

'*Mahega and the Upsaroka will attack our
camp to-nigbt — the wolt shall fall into a trap —
they will come to take scalps, let them look
after their own — but we must divide our parly
— Wingenund has seen theWashashee camp,
he shall guide ten warriors to it in the dark, and
while Mahega is leading his blind followers here,
the tomahawk and the fire shall be in his lodge !"

A deep murmur of approbation satisfied the
ll^ief as to the sentiments of his stern and deter-
mined band ; and Ethelston, although he knew
not the meaning of the words which had been
ittered, was struck by the dignity with which
they 6ad been spoken, and by the rich and va-
ried intonation of War-Eagle's voice.

'* ReginakI," said he, " how much I regret
that I could not follow your Indian brother in
his discourse. His attitudes brought to my
mind the orators of old, as represented to us by
classic pen and chisel : it seemed as if I could
almost gather his^ meaning from his eloquence
of eye and tone!"

" Certainly," replied Reginald, " whether the
merit of oratory consists in action, as held by. the

* old man eloquent who fulmined over Greece,'
or in the art of persuasion, by convincing the
judgment while moving the passions of the hear-
ers, as held by the best authors who have since
written on the subject, War-£agle possesses it
in an eminent degl-ee."

*' Yes," replied Ethelston, *' I admit the per-
suasive power, and the action at once graceful
and commanding, but I maintain that there is
yet a stronger element, the mention of whksh
you, and the authors whom you quote, have
strangely neglected, namely, Truth; that im-
mort^d essence, which pervades the whole intel-
ligent creation, before which falsehood shrinks
abashed, and sophistry vanishes into vapour.
This it is that guides the winged words of man
direct to the heart of his brother : by this, and
this alone, did the voice of Luther triumph over
the thunders of the Vatican, and beneath its
mighty influence the haughty Felix trembled
before the captive apostle. This is, if T mistake
not, the secret of your Indian friend's oratory ;
every word that he utters finds an echo in the
breast of those whom he is addressing. The
injuries that h^e recounts are recent ; the dan-
gers against which he warns them are real and
present ; and the vengeance to which he guides
them, they pant for with a thirst ardent as his
own."

" Far be it from me," replied Reginald, " to
disparage the might and majesty of truth, or to
doubt that in the end it must triumph over error
and falsehood, as certainly as Good shall obtain
the victory over Evil. Nevertheless, I hold,
that as the object of eloquence frequently is to

* make the worse appear the better cause,' and
to guide the hearers, not so much to their own
real good as to the immediate purpose of the
speaker, there are some occasions where he will
more effectively attain it by working on their
prejudices, frailties, and passions, than he could
oy the jnost direct appeal to justice or to truth,
^f Felix trembled at the denunciations of Paul,

the bolder and mightier spirit of Wallenstem
quailed before the wily astrologer, who pretend-
ed to have interwoven his destinies with the
mysterious movements of the planets."
^ ** I see the scope of your argument, Reginald,
and acknowledge its force. , It is because men
obey the dictates of passion more willingly than
those of conscience, that they are more easily
led by the factious sophistry of a Cleon.than by
the virtuous wisdom of a Socrates. Neverthe-
less, you will not deny that even sophistry and
faction bear testimony to the might of truth, by
potting on her semblance, and disguising them-
selves as her followers:, thus do they achieve
success, until they encounter some champion
strong enough to unmask and detect them ; as
the Trojans fled before Patroclus clad in tbe
armour of Achilles, until Hector pierced his dia-
guise, and killed him."

" Is it not strange," said Reginald, laughing,
" that in this wild and remote region, and amidst
its wandering tribes, we should renew discus-
sions which we so often held together in eariy
days on the banks of the Elbe ^nd Rhine! I
remember that you generally beat me in argu-
ment, and yet permitted me to retain possession
of the field of battle. On this occasion I think
we must draw oflf our forces, and neither claim
the victory. The Indians are already preparing
for the night's expedition, and interests so dear
to me depehd upon its result, that I look foi'-
ward to it with the deepest anxiety. If War*
Eagle is correct in his calculation, that the
Osages and their allies will attack our camp to-
night, it is uncertain whether they will carr>
Prairie-bird with them, or leave her behind un-
der a guard. We must be prepared for eithei
plan ; and, in dividing our force, arrange it so
that, if we succeed, she may be sure of falling
into the hands of those fit and authorised to
protect her. I will take with me Wingenund,
and our steady friends Baptiste and Pierre : do
you remain with War-Eagle, Paul Muller, and
the main body reserved for the defence of the
camp."

" Be it so," replied Ethelston ; " I trust we
shall not be long separated, and that before this
hour to-morrow we shall have rescued your be-
trothed from her captors." He added, with a
smile, *' Remember that in our German expedi-
tion you niade me many promises of discretion,
whichvin the excitement of action, you were
somewhat apt to forget ; you must, not do so
now that yon are engaged in the cause of one
to whom your life is perhaps dearer than it is
to yourself."

'* Baptiste himself shall not be more cautions
than I will be," replied Reginald, grasping bis
friend's hand ; and they parted to make the re-
quisite preparations for their respective duties

CHAPTER XXXVII.

A scene in t}ie tent of Prairie-bird, who cives some goo
advice, and receives in a short space or time more than
one unexpected visitor.— The (>ows, led by Mahega,
attack the Delaware camp by night— The defeated
party achieve a kind of triumph, and the victors iMet
with an unexpected loss.

The evening passed away with the rapidity
usual in that western region, where twilight has
no sooner thrown its dusky hue over mountain

TKB PRAIRIE-BIRD.

145

I a

>Bd plijii, UuA if •pUQ TieddB ^place to Hie
barker gloom of night ; and yet it were a ltt>6l
tpon nature to eall by the name of gloom tbat
noeitaiii ligbl^ in wMoh that mighty landscape
fepoeed. The moon was ha^ full, and b»
beams, seaiSQely placing tteongh the deep foy^
age of the wooded vale, streaked with stiver
lineff its moeay herbage ; eastward lay the vast
Mcpsnse of imdulating prairie, on which count-
less herds of bison lazily cropped the dew*
qnrinkted grass, wtiile high's^ve the scene
towered the gigantic pesaLS of the Western An-
des, shmtbering in a^ght a»x(rid and t>ftle as
tiieii own eternal snow.

Nothing was beard to ddstarb the reign of
silence, save the distant murmur of the Btrearo-
kts as they j^ashed from roek to rock in their
deecent to the qaiet rfver that flowed beneath ;
or here and there the stealthy foot of the panther
er pro^i^Qg bear. A ftw stars glimmered in
the vault abe«e« and' eloods of ever^varying
rinpo flitted athwart its sorface, now* hiding,
and ^ain paHiolly reireafiog the dark outlines
of Ibmst, vale, and rugged diif.

It was an hoar and a seene calculated to in-
spire thoughts of awe, piely, and gratitude, to-
wards the Creator; of love, gentleness, and
peace towards his creatures ; and yet through
those groves and glens feet more stealthy than
the panther^s step, foes move ffk\ than the prow-
ling bear, new womid t^eir sileat way, bent on
thmr seevet errand of destra^ion and of blood.

In one quarter Reginald, followed by Baptiste,
Pierre, voA sis men, moved swMlly across tl^e
pkairie^ under the guidance of Wingenund, to-
wards the oaanp of the Osages ; in another, Ma-
bega led a nvmoroiis band through the defiles
befere deseribed, to sorprise the encampment
of the DelwMParss; while at the latter place
War-£agle» aided by Atto and his chosen war-
riers, was making all the necessary dispositions
for a stratagem by which he hoped to defeat the
expected attack of his enemies.

It was already several hours past midnight,
the moon had withdrawn her light, and Prai-
rie-bird was bwied in the refreshing sleep that
visits the eyelids of guileless youth ; Lita slum-
bered on a couch of i^ins stretched across the
entfanee of her mistrese's tent, before which, at
a little distaooe, the Osage sentry, seated by the
^ breastwork thrown up for the defence of the
position, hommed'a kiw and plaintive air of his
tribe. Saddenly his ear caught the sound of
approaehtng.feet, and quick as thought the ar-
row waffi fitted to bis bowstring, but he checked
the hasty movement, remembering tlmt sentries
were posted at the base of the hill, who would
not have pevmitted any hostile step to approach
unchallenged. As the new comers drew near,
he distinguished through the gtoom the figures
of a man aad a woman— 4he former ^ort and
square- buift, the latter slight and graceful.

'^yibsal do the strangers seekV inquired
Toweno ; Ibr he it was whom Mah6ga had left
HI charge of his camp, and who now guarded
the tent of Prairie4>ird.

*^ Toweno is a great waivior among the Wasn-
ashe; hia Toiee is wdeome to the ear of a
friend," replied, in the Osage tongue, the rough
voice of Be^a, the horse-dealer. *<* The Upsa-
Kdca loaidmi wishes to speak with Olitipa, the
Steal NfesdieiMorilie test.'*

K

" This is not a time flyr maidens to vWt or
to speak,'* replied Toweno ; " the feet of the
braves are on the night-path, and many wives
who sleep now will be- widows ere the sun
is up."

** Besha knows it well,*' answered the horse-
dealer ; " nar can he understand h€iw Toweno
is in the camp while Mah^ and his warriors
are on the bloody-path."

" The F8le*faoes are cunning,** replied the
Osage, *< and Mab6ga wooM not leave the rich
skins of otter, beaver, and bison,' and the Great
MMicme of the tent, Without a guard.**

*< The Pale-faces w9l not come near the high-
camp,'* said Besha, casting a rapid glance over
the bales of fm and cloth. " Have you many
warriors left with you ?**

<' Four of the Washashe, and four times four
of the Upearoka, is the band in camp ;* bit
what does the woman desnre of Olitipa t"

'' She is the youngest and fhvourite wife ot
the Upearoka chief,'* replied Besha, lowering his
voice, " and she desires a medicine that his love'
for her may never change ; her heart is good
towards the Washashe, and her hands are not
empty.*' Here he whispered a few words to
his companion, and the girl, timidly extending
her hand, placed in that of the Osage a smaU
roll of tobacco.

The grim features of the warrior relaxed into
a smile, as his fingers dosed' upon the scarce
and much coveted leaf ;1^ and, without further
delay, he moved to the entrance of the tent, and
waking Lita, desired her to arouse her mistress
for a conference with the bride of the Upsaroka
chief

Although surprised at this unexpected sum-
mons. Prairie-bird hastened to receive her vis*
iter, supposing that some sudden illness or ac-
cident must be the cause of her ooming at such
an hour. Her simple tofilet was soon made;
and fastening to her girdle the bag containing
the slender stock of instruments and trifles that
she always carried with her, she stepped into
the outer compartment of the tent, and desired
Lita to admit the stranger.

The Crow girl, led by Besha, came forward
with apparent reluctance, obviously under the
iiifluenee of the greatest terror ; and Prairie-
bird was, for the moment, annoyed at the ad-
mission into her tent of a man whom she had
only seen once or twice before, and whose ap-
pearance was forbidding in the extreme ; but
quickly remembering that without him it would
have been impossible to communicate with her
visitor, she clesired Lita to place three mats ;
and seating herself upon one, kindly took the
Crow girl by the hand, drawing her gently to
that nearest to herself; then motioning to Be-

* The various methods of counting adopted by th9
western tribes are curious In the extreme ; some reckon
chidtf by fives, and amoiw Aese an expression equiva-
lent to "hands aad feet* sonifies " twenty;" bi one lan-
guage the number eight is expressed by a ^ord meaning
six with two ; in -another, by a word signifying ten with
out two : in fact, some very interesting illustrations ot
their language and modeli of thought might be drawn
from an accurate investigation of their numerals, but they
would be entirely out of place in a work of fiction.

t Tobacco is extremely scarce, and highly valued among
the western tribes ; at the close of the last century, it was
probably unlmown among the Grows, so that we must
suppKMie that the horse-dealer produced this present froni
his own stores, and for purposes best known to himseUl

146

fHE PRAIBIE-BIRD.

sha to occupy th& third, she requested htmiin
the Delaware tongue, to explain the object of
this nightly yisit.^

*' The tale of the Upsaroka maid is secret,"
he replied ; " it is only for the ears of Olitipa.^'

At a signal from her mistress, Lita, throwing
a blanket over her shoulder, stepped into the
open air, and leaned against the breastwork not
far from the post of Toweno.

<« Does the * Bending-willow' wish all to be
told 1" inquired Besha .of his companion, in a
whisper.

Bending- willow, who had not yet dared to lift
her eyes from the ground, now timidly raised
them ; and encount^ing the kind and encour:
aging glance of Prairie^bird, answered, " Let all
be told."

Having received this permission, the one-
eyed horse-dealer proceeded to relate, with
more feeling than oould have been expected
from his harsh and uncouth appearance, the
story of his fair companion. She was the daugh-
ter of the pdncipal brave in the nation ; both he
and his only son had fallen lately in a bloody
engagement with the Black-feet. The father
had, with his dying breath, bequeathed his sur-
viving child to the protection of his chief, and
the latter had fulfilled the trust by giving her in
marriage to his eldest son, a gallant youth, who,
although not yet twenty-five years of age, had
already two wives in his lodge, and. had taken
many scalps from the Blackr>feet, against whom
he was now absent on an expedition undertaken
to avenge the slain relations of his newly es-'
poused bride.

Bending-willow, who had not yet seen eigh«
teen summers, was passionately fond of her
young lord, who now returned her affection
with an ardour equal to her own ; this had
moved the spite and jealousy of his two former
wives, who took no pains to conceal their ha-
tred Qf her ; and althoug)^ they dared not strike
or ill-treat her as long as she remained the fa-
vourite, they endeavoured by every means in
their power to vex and annoy her, and to bring
her, by degrees, under the suspicion and dis-
trust of their husband.

It was to obtain from Prairie-bird a medicine
by which she mighit sedure his continued affec-
tion, that Bending-willow had made this visit ;
and ilhe had come stealthily by night, in hopes
of escaping thereby the observation of her
watchful colleagues.

During the horse-dealer's recital, Prairie-bird
glanced more than once at the young woman's
countenance, of which she was enabled by the
red light of the wormwood torch that burnt
near the centre of the tent, to distinguish the
features and expression ; both were remarkably
pleasing and sSbtractive, While the long black
hair falling overlier shoulders in two plaits, in-
terwoven with beads of various colours, was
set off by the delicate hue of the fawn-skin
dress, which displayed to advantage the sym-
metry of her light and graceful figure. Prairje-
bird took her hand in silence, and the Crow
girl fixed her eyes with guileless and admiring
wonder upon the surpassing loveliness of the
" great medicine of the tent," which struck her
«he more forcibly, as she had come in the ex-
pectation of seeing a person decked out and or-
namented after the fantastic fashion adopted

among* the Indian tribes by those nho pretend
to su^rnatural powers.

After a brief silence, Prairie-bird, addressing
her visitor through the interpreter, said, ** When
the wives of the yeung chief scold and speak
bad words to Bending-willow, what does sh*
rejrfyl"

" She gives them bad words again, sharper
and harder than their own," answmd the bniAm
hastily.

Prairie-bird shook her head and continuedy
" Has Bending- wiUow watched their faces when
they scold and heap angry words upon herl
How do they k>ok then 1"

<*They look ugly aiid spiteful as spotted
snakes !"

" Bending-willow has come for a medicine to,
make the love of her husband endme fresh and
green as tUe valleys watered by the Nebraska !
Does she think he would love her if, when he
returns to his lodge, he hears sharp, angry tone*
in her voice, and sees spiteful looks in her ooqu-
tenance > The Great Spirit has made her face
and voice sweet as the breath of the morning ;
if she makes them ugly and harsh, the memi-
cine of Olitipa cannot preserve her husband's
love."

The Crow bride cast down her eyes, evident-
ly confused and puzzled by this address. At
length she inquired,-in a subdued tone, " What,
then, is the counsel of Olitipa t What is Bend-
ing-willow to do when these sharp tongues scold
and rail at herl"

Prairie-bird op^ed the vcdume that lay be*
side her, and answered, "The words of the
Great Spirit are, * A soft answer tumeth away
anger !' When the tongues of the women are
bitter against Beading-v^low, let her give gen-
tle words in reply ; they will be ashsuEaed, and
will soon be Silent."

"But/' said the quick-tempered bridOt ''the
angry spirit gets into the heart of Bending-wil-
low : when fire is in the breast, cool water flowe
not from the tongue !"

" Olitipa will give a medicine to her sister,"
replied our heroine ; and opening a case that
stood' near her, she drew thence a small hand-
mirror. Presenting this to her visitor, she add* •
ed, "When Bending-willow finds the aagiy.
spirit in her heart, and bitter words ready on
her tongue, let her look at her face in this med-
icine-glass, and say to hersdf, ' Are these the
soft eyes that the chief loves to look upon V "

The bride took the glass, and contem^ated
her features therein, apparently not without
satisfaction. But their expression was troubled,
for she was frightened at the words which
Prairie-bird had told her were those of the
Great Spirit, and her eyes wandered from the
book to the maiden, as if she would willingly
learn more of her mysterious eommanion with.
the powers above.

At this crisis the wild war-cry of the Crows
rang through the tent ; several shots followed
each other in rapid succession, mingled with
the whistling of arrows, and the clash of blows,
while loud abov^ the din of the oooflict rose the
voice of Toweno, urging and encouraging hie
men.

Besha started to his feet, and mriied firom
the tent to leara whence came this sudden and
unexpected attaok» and Lita hastened te the

TH£ PBAIRIE-BIRD.

14T

«

de of her mistress, as if resolved to share her
ate, whatever that might be.

Loader and nearer came the mingled cries
md yells of battle, and a stray rifle-ball pierced
the canvass of the tent, leaving a rent in it
close to the head of Prairie-bird. She neither
stirred nor spoke ; and as the wailing and ter-
rified Bending-willoWy th^ d^aughter and the
bride of warriors inured to scenes of blood,,
looked on the pale, calm cheek of the Christian
maiden, whose hand still rested on the mysteri-
ons volume, she felt as if in the presence of a
superior being, and crept closer to her side for
protection and security. *

But we must leave the tent and its inmates,
and turn to the scene of strife without. The
darimess of night was giving place to the gray,
hue of dawn, and a faint streak of light was al-
ready discernible in the eastern horizon, ere
Reginfld's party, guided by Wingenund, was
able to reaeh the base of the hill on which the
Osages were posted. His intention had been
to arrive there several hours sooner ;: but he had
been prevented by various obstacles, such as
might be expected to occur on a night-mardi
through so nigged and diflScult a eountry, and
also by the necessity of making a considerable
circuit to avoid being seen by the Crows en-
camped, as was before mentioned, on a hill on
the opposite side of the valley.

Reginald had no means of ascertaining the
force that might be left to guard the camp and
the tent, and it appeared rash in the extreme to
attempt by daylight the storming, with only ten
men, a position so fortified by natttre, and de-
fended by warriors familiar with its local ad-
vantages. But his impetuous ardour had com-
municated itself to all his party, and it was
unanimously agreed that the attack should be
made.

In the ^etch before given of the Osage camp,
it was stated that the hill was steep, and of a
conical shape, sloping less abruptly towards the
valley, while the front that it presented to the
prairie eastward was precipitous and inaccessi-
ble. The attacking party had made their ap-
proach from this quarter, rightly conjecturing
that it would be left unguarded. They suc-
ceeded in gaining the base of the cliff unper-
ceived ; but in spite of the caution with which
they advanced towards the more sloping face
of the hill, they were descried by the enemy's
outposts, who discharged at them a flight of ar-
rows, uttering at the same time the shrill war-
cry, that had startled the party within the tent.

There being now light suflicient to enable the
combatants to distinguish each other, the rifles
of the white men told with fatal efibct, and sev-
eral of the Crows fell at their first fire ; the re-
mainder retreated, fighting, towards the breast-
work above, whither Reginald's party pursued
them with an impetuosity not to be resisted.
When, however, the Crows gained the protec-
tion of the breastwork, they recovered from
their temporary panic; and animated by the
example of Toweno, and the few Osages with
him, let fly their arrows with precision and ef-
fect.

The leader of the Osages, and one of his
band, were provided with rifles, and although
the attacking party availed themselves of the
•».. ^ ^ ihelter of trees and bushes in theii

ascent, two of fhem received severe bullet*
wounds fh>m the marksmen securely posted
above. They were not unnoticed by the ouick
eye of Baptists, who, having reloaded his long
rifle, deliberately waited until the Osage beside
Toweno showed the upper part of his head
above the breastwork as he aimed at Reginald,
now within pistol-shot of him. The finger of
the savage was on the trigger, when a ball from
the rifle of the Guide struck him in the centre
of the forehead, and with a convulsive bound
he fell dead on the spot, overthrowing in his fall
Toweno, whose rifle was thereby for the mo-
ment rendered unserviceable.

«• Forward! Master Reginald,'' shouted the
Qoide ; ** Wingenund is already at the breast-
work!"

Ligb as an antelope, and active as a moun-
tain cat, the Delawafo youth had distanced ^
his coDjpanions in the ascent ; and regardless
of the fearful odds of numbers opposed to him,
was already clambering over the stockade, when
an arrow pierced his arm, and a war-club, hurl-
ed with -equal force and precision, struck him
on the head, and he fell backwards at the feet
of Reginald. The latter, rendered desperate by
the fall of his Indian brother, caught from Bap-
tiste the huge axe that hung at his belt, and
springing forward to the stockade, soon hewed
himself a passage throng its wooden barrier-^
wounded sliglitly by an arrow in his thi^,
grazed by another on the cheek, his hunting*
cap pierced and carried from his head, it seem-
ed as though his life were charmed against the
missiles of the enemy— and despite every ob«
stacle, he stood at length within the breastwork,
followed by Baptists and his brave companions.
The Guide, whose cool and wary eye noted ev-
ery movement, had reserved the flre of the pis-
tols in his belt, and twice, while his young mas-
ter was hewing with reckless daring at the
tough barrier, had an unerring ball from them
rendered powerless an arm raised for his de-
struction.

Although still superior in numbers in the pro-
portion of two to one, the allied band of Osages
and Crows were so discouraged hy the storm-
ing of their barrier, that they offered but a fee-
ble resistance, each endeavouring to provide for
his own safety. Toweno alone, aided by one
of the bravest warriors of his band, determined
in this fatal crisis to execute the bloody orders
of Mah^ga ; and by a preconcerted signal, as
soon as Reginald made, good his footing with-
in the breastwork, they rushed into the tent of
Prairie-bird.

From the beginning of the aflrray,> the terri-
fied Upsaroka bride had never moved from the
side of our heroine, on whose countenance she
fixed her anxious eyes, as if expecting from hei
some display of supernatural power for theii
common protection. Lita clung also to the arm
of her mistress; and the Christian maiden,
trusting to that Word on which her hand and
her heart alike reposed, awaited with patient
resignation the issue of a peril, of which she
knew neither the nature nor the extent. That
the camp was attacked she was well aware, by
the shouts and cries of the combatants ; but
who the attacking party might be, and whether
likely to M or to succeed, she had no means of
judging.

m

THE PRAIRIS-BIBD.

Betha hod m (to oemmeooement of Uie af-
fray sbot several arrows from the breastwork
8t the invaders ; bat seeing them press forward
with such determined resolation, he bethought
himself of the bride, for whose safety he was
Tesponsible, and retired within the tent, resolr-
ed, if possible, to withdraw her from the scene
of confusion while there might yet be time for
escape ; hut Bending-wiUow obstinately refused
to quit the side of Prairie-bird, and he was still
«rging his entreaties to that effect^ when the
two Osages burst into the tent.

*' Let the Medicine-woman of the Bad Spirit
die," shouted^ Toweno, as h^ raised his toma-
hawk to strike ; but Besha caught the descend-
big blow, and endeavoured to avert the murder-
ous weapon from his hold. Meanwhile the
other Osa|^ advanced to execute the fell pur-
pose of ]ps leader, whei| the devoted Lita,
throwing (lerself in his way, clung to his up-
raised arm with the strength of despair. Slight^
however, was the resistance whioh she could
offer ; and the savage, throwing her with vio-
lence to the ground, again raised hia knife above
the head of his unresisting victim. Lita shHek-
ed aloud, and the fate of Praine-bird seemed
inevitable, vfh^k a warlike £gare burst into the
tent, and Reginald Brandon, still wielding the
9xe of Baptiste, stood in the midst of the group.
His fiery glance feU upon the savage about to
strike his beloved, and swifl as thought that
terrible weapon descending, clove the Indian's
skull.

By tM& timet Toweno bad freed himself from
Besha, whom he had rendered almost helpless
by two severe wounds with his. scalp-knife, and
he now flew at Reginald with the fury of a tiger
at bay ; but the presence of Prairie-bird nerved
hei^ over*a arm with threefold strength, and
pairying the blow which bis opponent' aimed at
his throat, be passed his cutlass throi^gh the
body of the Osage, and threw him, bleeding and
mortally wounded, several yards from the tent.
At this moment a shout of triumph without,
raised by Baptiste and his companions, assured
Reginald that the victory was complete, and
that those of the enemy who survived had fled
and left him in possession of the camp. Then
be cast himself on hi^ knees by the side of his
betrothed, and as she leaned her head upon his
shoulder, a flood of tears relieved the suppress-
ed emotions caused by the fearful trial that she
^ bad undergone. Few and broken were the
words that passed between them, yet in those
few words what volumes of the heart's grateful
and affectionate language were expressed !

The entrance of Baptiste reeaUed to the rer
eolleetion of Re^nald i^e duties that still re-
mained for him to perform, while the wounds re-
eeived by Besbftc in her defence, pleaded with
the maiden fo^foch remedies as i^e had with-
in her power. After briefly explaining to her
lover the circumstances which had brought the
horse-dealer and bis still trembling companion
to her tent, she sought her stock of healing oint-
ments and salves; while Reginald, althoujgh
slightly wountled, went out to arrange with
Baptiste and Pierre for the defence of their
newly-acquired possessioii, and to ascertain the
loss which his party bad sustained. This last
. was less than be bad feared it mi^t prove ; and
it was with heartfelt pleasure that be shook by

the hand young Wiogennnd, who had reeover*

ed from the stunning effects of the blow whioh
he had received in his gallant attack upon the
breastwork.

** Let my young brother go into the t^nt," said
Reginald ; rest will dq him good, and the eyea
of Olitipa will be |^ad to ^ee bim."

As ^the youth tuni^ed away. Baptiste aiM^
" Let not the man nor the Crow woman escape;
*we may want them yet."

Wingenund replied by a sign of intelligenee»
and entered the compartment of the teat,
where he found bis sister exercising her office
of charity. •

W^ will now leave Reginald Brandon and b'
party busily employed in repairing the bre"
made in the breaatwork, in examining ana
strengthening all the defences of the post (whiob
they foun4 much stronger than they had ex»
pected), and in making aU tbe requisite jHrepara*
tions for the attack which they anticipated on
the return of Mahega and his Crow allies. The
booty, ammunition, and sup^ies found in the
camp, exceeded their expectations, as in search-
ing the Qsage lodges they discovered all the
^ goods stolen by the flatter from the Pelawaares*
Tbe eyes of Baptiste and Pierre brightened at
the sight of this recovered trea9are ; those eac-
perienced hunters well knowing that the Oss^
chief, when deprived of the means of offermg
presents or bribes, would not long retain the
friendship of his treacherous aHies.

We will now go back for a few bours».and
see with what success be met in the «xpeditiop
which he undertook against the camp of War«
Eagle. So confident did he feel in its issue
that be had prevailed upon two-thirds of tbe
fighting men of the Crows to join bis party,
promising them abundance of scalps and plun-
der, as well as revenge for the losses whicb
they had sustained at tbe hands of Rc^na^'s
band. Having already carefully noted aU the
land-marks on the path by which he meant to
make his appro^h, he followed it with insUno-
tive sagacity, and a few hours' rapid aighl-
march along the base of the bills brou^t him
to the opening of the narrow vsdjey, at tbe np*
per extremity of which the enemy's camp waa
posted. Here they slackened their speed, and
advanced in silence wiUi noiseless step, Mab^^
stealing onward io front, darting has qniok glance
from side to side, as if he would penetrate tbe
gloom, rendered yet deep^ by the trees and
rocks, beneath whicb they wound their cautioiia
way. It was not long b^ore he was enaUad
to distinguish the site of tbe Delaware camp,
by tbe ruddy glare cast by the watch-fires <m
the surrounding foliage. The Osage stopped
and pointed out the weksome beacon to bis fol«
lowers—- not a word was spoken— eveiy warrioi
there knew the preconcerted plan of attaoki
and was aware that » careless step upon a dry
stick might discover and defeat it. Mab^ga
carried a rifle, and the discharge of it was to be
immediately followed by a tii^i of arrows from
his party, after which they were to rush on tbe
surprised foe, with bcttle-axe and tomahawk.
Onward moved the dusky band ; and it seemed
as if fate bad given the enemy into their power.
Not a deer nor mountain-cat ^as startled from
its lair to give warning of their approach ; and
at length Mah^a soc^eded in creeping to the

-^

THE PBAI£iH.BlRD.

I4d

bvdiy ftttminit of a MBoek, trheii«e, at a distance
of less than fifty yards, he commanded a view
tf the eamp below.

** For once, bsve the conning and watchftil-
ness of War*£agle failed hinr/' said the trium-
phant Osage to himself, as he loosened the
thong of his war-elnb| and thrust forward the
barrel of his rifle.

One by one of bis followers crept forward,
nntil they lay in line beside him, behind the
,(»est of the hillock, over which their eager eyes
looked down with sarage anticipation upon the
Delaware camp. The moon had entirely with-
drawn her light, and all the scene was wrapt in
impenetrable gloom, save where the camp-fires
east a red glare on the bark and branches of the:
sorroonding trees, and on the figmres which layi
aronnd, enveloped in blanket or in bison-robe ;
no sound disturbed the deep i^ilence of the night,
except the nibbling bite of the .horses as they
cropped the cool grass ^f the vaUey bdow the
camp. For a minute Mahdga contemplated,
with liarce delight, the helpless condition of his
I hated foes, then taking deliberate aim at a blan-
keted form supported against the tree nearest
to tho fires, be pulled the fatal trigger, and
without waiting to see the effect of his shot, he
shouted bis battle-cry, and sprang forwaiti with
Ais war-ehib towards the camp. Scarcely had
the buUet left his rifle ere the Crows discharged
their arrows, each aiming at the figure that he
could the most easily Sstinguish; then they
rashed forward to complete the work of destruc-
tion with knife and tomahawk.

Leaping into the camp, fifty of the savages
were ahready in the full glare of its fires, when
a shriH whistle was heard, and the simultaneous
report of a dozen rifles echoed through moun-
tain, forest, and valley. So near were the
marksmen, and so true their aim, that not a
buUet failed to carry a death or lital wound ;'
and the surviving Grows now first ascertained
that the figures which they had been piercing
were stufil^ with grass, and wrapped in bbn*
kets or robes, so as to resemble sleeping war-
riors ! Chreat was their terror and dismay ;
they knew neither the number nor position of
their ^oBO^ed foe, and the nuister-spirit who
had led them, and to whose guidance they
trosted for their extrication, was nowhere to be
se^L Such had b<^n the impetuous haste of
the Osage to satisfy his desire for vengeance,
that in his rapid descent upon theenemy^s camp
* he-had canght his foot in a tough and tangled
gpound-brier, and had fietllen headlong forwards.
It happened that the very spot where he feH
was the peat of one of the cotMsesded Delawares,
who grappled with him before he could rise to
continue bis course.

Though taken thus by surprise and at disad-
vantage, the fierce Osage lest not for a moment
his courage «r self-possession ; seizing the up-
raised arm of his antagonist, he wrenched the
knife from his grasp, and, swift as thought,
drove it into the heart of his foe ; then tearing
off -the scalp, and suspending it to his belt, he
looked upon the scene of confusion and slaa^-
ieat below. A glance sufficed to show him that
he had fallen into the trap that he had prepared
for others, and that a continued contest with
an enemy armed with rifles, and securely hid-
dttiy muat be attended with great and unavail-

ing loss. Sis own person had not yet come
within the light of the fires, neither had the
groans of the dy^ng Delaware been heard amid
the yells of the Crow attack, and the succeed-
ing report of the guns ; thus was the Osage
enabled to retire unobserved a score of paces
into the wood, bearing with him the yet undis-
charged rifle of the Delaware whom he had
slain ; then he applied his war-whistle*, to hia
lips, and Mew a hind and shrill recal.

Glad were his fiiithfui followers and the ter-
rified Grows to hear and obey the signal; yet
did they not leaiie the scene without further
loss, f<x ere they got beyond the circle around
which the camp4!res shed their uncertain light,
anothm' volley was fired afler them by the ene-
my, and atthongh none were killed by this se-
cond diaehsnrge, many were so grievoo^ wound-
ed that they were with difilculty b<nme off by
their companions. It was smne rriief to them
in their hasty retreat to find that they were not
pursued. A^diAga placed himself in the rsar ;
he even lingered many yards behind Uie reel,
crouching now and then behind tree or bu^ ib
hopes of being able to slake his burning thirat
for revenge ; but in vain, Wsr-Eagle was too
sagacious to pursue by night, in an unknown
and broken eountry, an enemy wito, altfaeugh
dismayed and panic-stmck, still out-numbered,
his band in ^e proportion of three to one.

" Bloody-hand, thegreat wairror of the Osages,
will not ^ come again soon to visit t^e Lenape
camp," said War-Eagle, in answer to Ethel-
ston*s congratulations, as they stood surrounded
by their victorioiis handful of men on the spot
whence they had' just driven the enemy with
so much slaughter. ** Let Atto count the dead,*'
continued the chief, ** and bhng in the wounded^
if any are found/'

** War-Eagle," said the Missionary, who from
his concealment had been an unwilling specta-
tor of the' late brief, but sanguinary skirmii^
^^ forbear to exercise here the cruel usages of
Indian war ; let the wounded be cared for, and
the dead be put to rest in peace below the
earth.»»

«<The earn of War-Eagle are open to the
Black Father's words," replied the chief .atern^ ;
"if ai^ wounded are found, they shall tssSidt
no further hurt : but the scalps of the deed
shsdl hang on the iBedicine«'pele of the Lena^
village, that the sfHrits of Tamenuisd and bis
fetbers may know that tfa^ children bav«
t^ken vengeanee on the fork-tongaed Wash-
asbe."

' Further conversation was interrupted by 4t
cry Bttered by Attd, who had foand the body
of the unhappy Delaware slain by Mahiga.
The whole party hastened to the spot, and
War->£agle, without speakingyi word, pmnted
to the reeking sknll whence %ie fierce Osage
had torn the scalp.

Flaol MdlleT, feeling that all reply would '->«
ill*timedand unavailing; turned away, and walk-
ed towards the feeding-place of the horses,

« ejL ' "

* Some Df the Indtan wtertan when leadiiig a wat •
party carry a shrill wblstle, wberewitii they direct the
mdvemeuta of their followers. These wMstles vary as
to tiielr form and ornament according to the tribe to which
tke leader belongs. Those wUeh the Astbor has seen in
most fre^mat use were made from the bone ef tiie wild
turkey's leg, and were &odfuUy adorned with stained
porcupine-quills.

ISO

THB PRAIRIE-BIRD.

while the Delawares ecalpO'^ and threw into
an adjacent hollow, the bod es of the Crows
and Osages who had fallen. Of the latter they
counted two, and of the former ten, besides a
ranch greater number wh(xn they knew to hare
been borne off mortally wounded.

As the Misstonary strolled onward, accompa-
nied by Ethelston, a low moan caught his ear,
*and stooping down, he discerned an Indian
coiled up in a position indicative of intense ago-
ny under the branches of a juniper. They car-
ried him back to the camp-fire, and on examin-
ing him by its light, he proved to be a young
Grow warrior, shot through the body, who had
dragged himself with difi&culty for some distance,
and had then fallen exhausted to the ground.
Doubtless he expected to be immediately scalp-
ed and dispatched, nor Mild he for some tune
be Induced to believe that those into whose
hands he had fallen were indeed endeavouring
to alleviate his su^rings.
. War-Eagle, faithful to his promise, rendered
every assistance in his power to the worthy
Missionary while thus employed,, but it might
easily be seen by the scornful curl of his lip that
he looked upon this care of an enemy Wounded
in battle as an absurd and effeminate practice.

Day broke, and the dispirited band of Crow
mnd Osage warriors returned from their fruitless
expedition, only to find a worse disaster at
home. Great, indeed, was their dismay, when
tLey were met by a scout firom their village,
wno informed them that a party of white men
had stormed the Osage camp by night, and still
retained possession of it,' having destroyed the
greater proportion of those left to defend it. In
this description of the attack, the height, the
strength, the daring and impetuous courage of
the young warrior who had led it, were paint-
ed in colours exaggerated by terror ; yet the
Osage chief had no difiicnlty in recognizing the
hat^ rival who had struck and disgraced him, '
and who was now master of the fate of her for
whose sake he had toiled, and plotted, and suf-
fered so much.

Stung to the quick by these suggestions of
wounded jealousy and pride. He ground his teeth
with fury that would not be repressed, and he
aworci that before two suns had risen and set,
either he or his rivals or both, should see the
light of day no more. His position was now
precarious in the extreme, all his goods and
wnmunition having fallen into the enemy's hands
ezeepting that which he and his few remaining
followers had about their persons. He knew
Ihat if he no longer possessed the means of ma-
king presents, the Crows would abandon, if not
betray him at once, and he resolved to strike
some sudden and decisive blow before that
thought should sfcttain possession of their minds.

Tliis resolve ttiparted again to his manner its
usual fierce and haughty grandeur, and, although
the Crows loved piim not, they could not hSp
* ooking with a certain awe npon the man who,
amid the confusion and panic of the late disa»*
trous attack upon the Delaware camp, had borne
sway from the victorious enemy the bloody tro-
phy which now hong at his belt, and who, al-
though he had lost by a single blow his lodges,
bia supplies, and the Great Medicine oi the tent,
I reserved unsubdued the comnianding pride of
lis demeanour.

The success of the stratagem which he now
ipeditated will appear in due season ; meanwhile
we must return to the camp of War-Eagle, who
began his march at dawn of day with the view
of rejoining Reginald and his band with the
least possible delay.

Although he did not anticipate any attempt
at reprisals on the part of the Crows to whom
he had just given so severe a lesson, yet he was
aware of Mah6ga*s having escaped, and well
knew that he would leave untried no schemes
for obtaining revenge.

On this account the Delaware chief went fc
ward to the front, taking with him several of a
warriors, whom he sent out from time to time
to examine the ground, and leaving Attd with
with Ethelston and Paul Miiller to bring up the
rear. The latter could not be prevailed npon
to abandon the wounded Crow, whom he bad
placed upon his own horse, which he led by the
bridle, while Ethelstdn supported the sufferer
in the saddle.

Ever since the oecasion when Reginald Bran-
don had presented to Attd the bear-daw collar
88 a testimony to his bravery, the Delaware had
attached himself more and more to the white
men ; and although, with the instinctive saga-
city of bis race, be foresaw that the best exer-
tions of the two now in his company would fail
to effect a cure of the wounded man, he willing-
ly and good-humouredly assisted their charita-
ble endeavours.

In this order they had marched for some hours,
and the leaders of the. band having attained the
summit of a ridge, already saw at no great dis-
tance the two remarkable hills before mention-
ed as the favourite encampment of the Crows
Encouraged by the sight, they descended the
opposite slope, with increased speed, War-Eagle
being most anxious to learn the success of Reg-
inald's detachment. The whole band had pas*
sed over the summit of the ridge excepting the
small party who escorted the wounded Crow,
when the latter grew so faint from the effects of
internal bleeding that they were no longer able
to keep him in the saddle, and deposited him
gently on the grass. The poor fellow pointed
to his parched lips, and made an imploring sign
for water. Paul MiiUer casting his eyes around,
sawat a small distance a broken ravine or fis-
sure, in which he hoped that some rain-water
might be found, and he desired Attd to hasten
thither with idl speed.

The Delaware obeyed, and had approached *
within a few paces of its edge, when an arrow
from an unseen enemy pierced him through the
breaat, and Mah^ga, leaping from his concral-
ment, killed the brave fellow with his club, and
attached another Lenape scalp to his belL He
was followed by eight or ten well-armed Crow
warriors, who, passing him while he stooped
over his fallen enemy hastened forward and sur-
rounded Paul Mailer, Ethelston, and the wound*
ed man. Great was their astonishment at re
cognizing in the latter a highly-esteemed
brave of their own tribe, and greater still at ob-
serving that the two white men weie so busily
engaged in tending apd supporting him in his
suffeiings, as not to have noticed their approach

When Ethelston became aware of their pre
sence, his first impulse was to lay his hand up
on a pistol in his belt, but with a steady sell

THE PRAlRIE-lBIRD.

M

ii

fil»8e»fcm of true courage, he saw at a glance
that he ahocdd^ by unavailing resistance, only
cause the certam death of himsielf and his peace-
able companion, so he continued his attentions
to the wounded man, and poured into his mouth
the last iefw drops of a cordial which he bad re-
served ia a leathern flask.

Fresh from the slaughter of the unfortunate
Atto. Mah^ga now came forward, and would
have saerifioed the unresisting Missionary to his
blint. fury, bad not one of the Crow warriors
caught bis arm, and pointed in an attitude of
lemonstranee to his wounded comrade.

The Osage perceived at once that the thne
was not propitious for his indiscriminate revenge,
and contented himself with explaining by signs
to his allies that ere long tbe party now out of
sight behind the hilU would reappear over its
crest in search of thetr missing companions.

This hint was not lost upon the Crows, who
forthwith deprived Ethelston of his arms, and,
tying biffl with a leather thong to the Mission-
ary, horned them along in an oblique direction
towards an adjoining thicket, while some of
tbem relieved each other in the care of the dy-
ing man.

War-£agle was already far advanced in his de-
scent of the hill on the opposite side, wlien his
progress was arrested by shouts and cries from
the rear. On looking round he perceived that
these proceeded from Monsieur Perrot, who
was waving his arras, and with other gesticu-
lations, indicative of the greatest excitement,
calling upon the chief to return.

** Varicle, Varicle, come quick back !"

Although the latter had little regard for the
character of the French valet, he saw that
something alarming had occurred ; and hasten-
ing to the spot, scarcely waited to hear his ex-
planation that ** Monsieur Etelston, de Black
Fader, and de vounded Corbeau, were not to be
seen," but pushed on at once to the top of the
hill, over which he had so lately passed.

Casting his anxious eyes around, he looked
in vain for the missing members of his party ;
bat he saw at a considerable distance on the
back trail the Missionary's pony quietly crop-
ping tbe prairie-grass. Having called one of
his men to his side and given him a few brief
kistrncttons, he returned speedily towards the
scene of the late catastrophe, and on approach-
ing it^ found the scalped and plundered body of
Atto, from which the Crows had carried off tbe
arms, the belt, and the bear-claw collar given
to him by Reginald. Although deeply grieved
at the loss of the bravest of his followers, War-
Eagle was too much inured to scenes of strife
and bloodshed to give way to any emotion save
the ardent desire for revenge ; and he struck
off alone upon the enemy's traiU some of his
party following him at a distance.

As he approached the thicket, his attention
was caught by a column of smoke ascending
from a point near the centre of it ; and he judg-
ed that ^he band must be very strong, either in
their position or in numbers, if they could have
the audacity thus to light a camp- fire in defiance,
as it were, of his pursuit. Influenced by this
consideration, he waited until his whole party
had come up, when he again moved forward
towards the wood, cautiously watching every

bush and shrub, in momentary ext)eotatioii of
seeing the enemy start from the covert.

These precautions seemed, however,, alto-
gether unnecessary ; for he reached unmolested
the spot whence be had seen the smoke ascend,
and on his arrival found that the fire was con-
suming the last mortal remains of some human
being, whose bones were mingled with its dying
embers. This he knew at once to have been
the wounded Crow who had expired in the
arms of his companions, and to whom they had
paid in their retreat* this hasty funeral rite, to
prevent, his body from being liable to any' indig-
nities in the event of a pursuit. The quiver
and tomahawk of the deceased warrior were
suspended by a branch over his funeral pyre,
and War-£agle turned from the spot in moody,
silent meditation. He felt assured that the
retreating party were now too far advanced for
him to overtake them, unless he gave up the
idea of joining Reginald ; and he bought it by
no means improbable that this attack had been
devised for the purpose of preventing that junc-
tion so important to the safety of both parties ;
wherefore he resolved to eflfect it without delay,
and afterwards to employ all possible means for
tbe recovery of the prisoners.

With this view he returned upon the steps ;
and having seen the last honours paid to the
remains of the faithful Atto» again proceeded in
the direction of the Cro\^ camp.

As his little band drew near upon the prairie
it was distinctly visible from both the fortified
bills, and some fifty or sixty horsemen galloped
cut from. the higher of the two, with the appa-
rent intention of attacking him ; but the steady
front presented by the white men and Dela wares
deterred theoi^from approaching too near the
glittering tubes levelled to receive them, and
they galloped and wheeled in rapid circles over
the prairie, taking care, however, to keep be-
yond rifle range. At this juncture the cheering
notes of a bugle rose on the air ; and Reginald,
who had descried his friends, now came down
with two men from his little garrison to meet
them. The Crows, seeing that further opposi-
tion OH the open ground was unavailing, retired
with threats and yells to their camp ; and a few
minutes afterwards the parties under War-
Eagle and Reginald were reunited within the
little fortress so hardly won by the latter, who
now learnt, with unspeakable regret, the cap*
ture of Ethelston and* Paul IVIiiller, and the death
of the brave warrior who had shared with him
tbe perils of the first skirmish with the Crows.

CHAPTER XXXVni.

The negoflation set on foot by Reginald ^r the release oi
his friends.— Bttdia becomes an ImportaBt personage.

mui s r mm

ScARCELv had War-Eagle entered within the
breastwork by the side of his friend, ere his
eager and indefatigable spirit prompted him to
inspect tbe defences of their new camp, and to
guard every approach open to the attacks of
their dangerous neighbours. On this service
Baptiste willingly agreed to accornpany the
chief; and while they were thus employed,
Regioald undertook the painful task of commu-

IM

ifiHfi PRAIRIE. BIRD.^

ittoatiDg to Prairie-bird the inteOigence that her
beloved inetructor was, with his iriend Ethel-
stoD, a captive in the hands of the Crows.

Trials and sufferings of her own the maidetf
could bear with fortitade ; but her feelings to-
wards the, missionary were those of the fopdest
danghter towards a parent; and when she
thought of the risk that he inoarred of iU-nsage

r death at the hands of his captors, she burst

nto tears, and el^claimed, *^0h, Reginald!
eannot he be rescued ere it be too late 1"

At the sound of that voice, and the sight of
those tears, Reginald's heart would have prompt-
ed him to rush headlong into the camp of the
Upsarokas ; but he felt that he would thereby
only sacrifice his own life without efibcting the
object in view; and, moreover, he was by no
means certain whether Mah6ga and his party had
conveyed their prisoners to the central camp.

The doubt and anxiety of his mind were
jfeinly visible on his countenance, when a low
voice whispered in his esr, «* May Wingenond
speak toNetis!"

** Surely, dear brother," said Reginald, laying
hm hand kindly on the youth's shoulder, ** when
I remember that it was Wingenund who guided
me over the prairie to his sister's tent, I were
worse than ungratefhl to reject his counsel
now !" ^

" That young woman," he replied, pointing
to the captive bride seated in the corner of the
tent, " is dear to the Upsaroka chief; she is his
youngest wife, and his heart is warm towards
her. Let the one-eyed stranger from the un-
known tribes, who speaks many tongues, go
back to the Crow camp, and tell the chief that
if his prisoners are hurt, his bride shall be burnt
alive ; if they are set free, she shall return un-
hurt to his lodge."

** It is a brave device, dear Wingenund, and
shall be executed without loss of time ; but can
we trust the stranger?"

" Methinks yoi; nnay," said Prairie-bird, " for
he received his wound in defending me from
those cruel men."

" True," replied Reginald ; " let my brother
speak to him in the Delaware tongue, and ex-
plain the message he is to bear."

**It is well," answered the youth; adding,
with an arch look, " and let Netis not send him
away with empty hands. There is cunning in
the stranger's eye, he knows that Mahega is
poor; and he will rather make friends with
those who have something to give.**

**Be it so," said Reginald laughisg; and he
forthwith desired one of his men to select :from
a package containing knives, powder, tobacco,
and cloth, a quantity equal to the usual Indian
price for a horse. Wingenund, having waited
in silence the retttm of the messenger, addressed
the prisoner as follows :-— ^

" Has the stranger a name in his tribe f'

*' He is called Besha in the southern prairies."

"Besha dwells among the Crows. They
have shed the blood of white men and Dela-
wares in battle ; his scalp belongs to those who
have taken him."

The horse-dealer bowed in silence, and the
youth continued.

<* But the heart of the white chief is great ;
be will not take Besha's life, neither will he bind
hie limkj. Besha is free to go where he likes."

The horse-dealer starod as if he did not
believe his ears ; but Wingenund, withovt a^
peariag to notice his surpriae, proceeded.

** That is not alL Besha received a wound io
defending Olitipa fron the Washashe. Tlie
white chief's tend is open ; it is quick to re-
ward good deeds, and to punish bad ones ; ttae
presents in that package, of knives aad cloth,
tobacco and powder, are for Besha ; he may re*
turn to the Upsaroka camp, and his friends shall
not say that he eomes with eaapiy hands."

The deep>8et eye of the horse-dealer gleamed
with pleasure, as he fixed it on the weleoeoB
bale, and heard these words. His first HH>ve-
ment was to rise from the ground, and i^aee the
right hands of RegmaM and of Wtngemiad m
his heart in token of gratUude ; then toromg to-
wards the latter, he inquired, ** Is there a dark
cloud over the Upearoka b^de? Will the white
chief kill her, or make her a slave 1"

'* Let Besha open his ears," reined the ycmth,
earnestly, *' and let not the wind blow away good
counsel. The Washashe and the Upsaroka have
taken. captive two white men tern this band;
these have killed no red man ; they have done
no harm. If any hurt be done to them, or thei.
lives be taken, the Upsaroka bride shall be bum
before the next settmg sun ; but if they are see
back free and unhurt, she shall return to he
husband the same hour, and a present foai
times as great as this shall be given to Besha.''
Having thus spoken, Uie youth placed the
package in the horse-dealer's handsi and made
him a sign to go. Before obeying this hint, the
latter whispered a few words to Eroding- wiUow,
in which he comforted her with the assurance
that be would labour incessantly for her release ;
after which be departed towards the Crowcamp^
with a gait sopiewhat tottering and uncertain,
from the joint efifect of the weight of his bitr-
den and the wound that he had so lately re-
ceived.

We will now leave Reginald engaged in the
sad, yet dear employment of oomftnting his be-
trothed, and striving, by a thousand saggestiona*
to relieve her anxiety respecting the fate of her
beloved instructor, and her lover's friend. Nei-
ther will we follow War-Eagle and Baptiste in
securing the important post which they had so
unexpectedly won ; but we will return to tiie
Crow camp, where Mah^ had newly arrived
with his prisoners, and where eveiything was
in a state of alarm and confusion.

Great had been the panic consequent on the
doable defeat which they had anstaiBed ; nor
had its efiTects been entirely removed by the
successful blow last struck by Mah^, and the
capture of the two white men. The Osage
chief had lost all his warriors, with the excep-
tion of four, his baggage and ammunition were
in the hands of the enemy, and he well know
that his only remaining chance of retaining the
support of his allies, was in vigorously porsutng
the success which he had so opportunely gained.
The Crow chief, on the other hand, dishearten-
ed by the loss and disgrace which had be&llea
his tribe, and vexed beyond measure at the de«
tention of his son's favourite wife, justly attribo-
ted both these misfortunes to an alliance whici
had brought no increase either to his power oi
his wealth.
Such was the state of parties when the coia

THB PRAIftlE.BIRD.

1&3

'

efl of tlie Upsarokas met to decide upon the ftte |
of their prisooers. The debate being carried on *
in their own langaafle, Mahdga was uaabie to
gatber the eentimenn of the several speakers,
aad he de<diiied to sit in the circle, bat stood
leaoing against the outer post of the opnncil
kxtfe, tuB quick eye bent opon the countenance
of each raccessiTe speaker, as if he woidd read
ihere the purport of his harangne. One fierce
iid hot-headed warrior proposed that the pris-
onecB should be instantly pot to death, and a
sudden attack be made with their whole force
OB the opposite hill, which would be easily re-
9o?ered, and an abundance of plunder acquired.
An older Indian next addressed the meeting in
a persoasive tone, that suited well the sharp
and cunning exinreBsion of his countenance. He
sigsed, that the Grows had derived no advan-
tige, but rather loss and misfortune, from their
alhaoce with Mah^, and that it was their in-
terest to make friends with the newly-arrived
band,^ho were more rich and powerful ^ where-
fore he advised that the lives of the prisoners
should for the present be spared.

The debate was at its height, and the assem-
bly apparently divided in opinion, when Besha
entered, the coundl-lodge, and sat down in the
outer circle near to the entrance. All eyes were
turned to him, as the report of his capture had
already spread through the village, and his
wasted appearance, as weH as the bandages
over bis neck and arm, showed that he had
been wounded in the late affray. After a brief
silence, the chief desired that he would relate
wlAt had occurred, a command which the
hersa-dealer obeyed without hesitation.

Although not gifted with any orational powers,
he was a shrewd fellow, thoroughly versed in
all the wiles of Indian diplomacy; and well
aware, as a resident guest amongf the Grows,
that his best chance of a favourable bearing was
to frame his speech according to their interests,
wlHch happened in the present instance to tally
with his own. In relating the'events which had
oecttrred in the opposite camp, he exaggerated
the strength and wealth of the enemy, dwelling
at large upon the clemency st^own to himself
and upon the desire evinced for peace ; stating,
in conclusion, that he was the bearer of a speci-
*fic message, or proposal, to the great chief. At
this announcement there was a general murmur
of curiosity, and Mah^ga bit his lip with vexa-
tion at his inability to understand what was
going on.

At a signal from the chief, Beeba proceeded
to inform the council, that Cending-wiilow, the
bride of their lavourite and absent war-leader,
was now a captive ; and he recounted faithfally
the circumstances under which she had visited
the white tent with him, and the terrible threats
leld out respecting her in the event of any in-
jury being done to the white prisoners. The
eflect of this announcement was so great, that
•it was Tisible even to Mahsga ; nor was he sur*
prised when Besha explained to him, by order
of the chief, that the council had decideid upon
sparing the lives of the white men, at least un-
to the return of the war-leader and his band of
braves, now absent on a foray into the country
jf the Black-feet.

Agreeably to this decision, Paul Muller and
Etiielston were confined in a lodge adjoining

that of the chief, under a Crow guard, to whom
strict orders were given to prevent their escape,
and also to protect them against any attempt on
the part of Mah^ga or his followers. Besha
was allowed to see them, and they learfkt from
him that thenr friends had been completely suc-
cessful, and had re-eaptured the Great Medicine
of the tent, as well as the ammunition and bag-
gage. He further informed them, that he would
do all in his power to effect their release ; add*
ing a significant hint that he should not be un-
willing to receive tangible proofs of their grati*
tude.

The captives were, upon the wlole, much
comforted by this interriew ; and on his de-
parture, Ethelston said, addressing his com-
panion, " Reverend father, we have cauro to be
grateful for the intelligence communicated to us
by this man, inasmuch as we expected no less
than to be put to an immediate, and perhaps a
cruel death. Yet, methinks, for a messenger
of good tidings, he has the most uncomely and
villainous countenance that ever I beheld."

"I will not say that his face recoinmends
him," said Paul Bffiller, smiling; *< albeit, the
expression thereof may have been altered for
the worse by the loss of an eye. I have seen
him more than once before among the tribes
bordering upon the Mexican frontier, and if my
memory serves me, he bore the reputation of
being a crafty and designing knave in his voca-
tion ; but I never heard him charged with cruel-
ty, or thirst of blood."

** What, then, do you think, are the motives
for the friendly exertions which he professes to
make in our behalf 1"

" We will hope that they are partly owing to
a grateful sense of the treatment he has experi-
enced at the hands of our friend Reginald, and
partly from the expectation of presents and
rewards, which the Osage is no longer in a con-
dition to offer. Meanwhile, we must solace our-
selves in our captivity with the reflection, that
my beloved pupil is safe under the charge of
friends, upon whose fidelity and devotion we
can fully rely.**

Leaving the captires to comfort each other
with these and other similar suggestions, we
will return to Reginald Brandon, who forgot not,
even in the enjoyment of Prairie-bird's society,
to occupy himself constantly in devising plans
for their liberation. In these he was warmly
seconded by War>-Eagle and Baptiste ; but, after
carefiitly reconnoitring the Grow camp, they
agreed that it was too strong to be carried by
open attack by their small party, especially as
they had learnt from Besha, that the husband
of Bending-willow, the son of the Great Ghief,
had just returned with his band, consisting of
fifty chosen warriors, from a successful foray
into the Black-foot country.

The wily horse-dealer was allowed, in his
mixed capacity of interpreter and envoy, to pass
from camp to camp ; and as both parties were
desirous of securing his co-operation, presents
were liberally heaped upon him, and his grey
eye twinkled as be cast it upon the increasing
pile of goods at the back of his lodge. ** There
will soon be enough to exchange for a hundred
beaver-skins,'* said he to himself, '* then Besha
will look for some fine horses, and go towards
the east."

164

THE PRAIRIEBIBD

While he was thus congratalating himself on
his prospects of future wealth, a tali figure dark-
ened the entrance of his lodge, and the young
war-chief stood before him. " White^BitU*
would speak with Besha/* said the former in a
haughty tone, adjusting with dignity the cream-
coloured robe from which he took his designa-
tion.

*' Let the young chief be seated/* replied the
horse-dealer, making at the same time a signal
to one of his lads to offer food and a pipe to his
|uest.

White-BulFs first impulse was to refuse this
hospitality, but he checked it, and having tasted
a morsel, and emitted two voluminous puffs of
smoke from the pipe, he turned to the horse-
dealet^ and said in a stern, deep tone, " Bending-
willow is a prisoner in the white tent ; Besha
took her there, he must bring her back, for the
heart of White-Bull is dark — there is no light
or pleasure without her."

" The will of the bride was strong," he re-
plied ; " she would take no counsel from Besha ;
if he did not go with h^r, she would go alone,
to consult the Medicine of the tent ; Besha went
with her that none might do her harm."

" The ears of White-Bull are not to be tick-
led by the songs of birds," said the young chief,
fiercely. ** Besha took her to the white men*s
camp, and he mast bring her back before two
suns have set, or his heart shall be cut out from
his body."

" White-Bull knows that there are two white
^ ' prisoners here, let him give them to Besha, and
he will bring back Bending- willow befoce the
sun is in the west."

" The white prisoners belong to the war-coun-
cil," said the young man sullenly. *' White-BuU
•ares not whether they live or die; but he
wants his bride, whom the fool Besha led away
to a place where she was caught like a beaver
in a trap ; if he does' not bring her back within
two sun-sets, the blade of this knife shall be red.
White-Bull has spoken, and his words are not
wind !" So saying, the violent youth passed
with angry strides from the horse-dealer's lodge.

Besha now found himself in an awkward
predicament, in endeavouring to extricate him-
self from which, his first step was to consult
the young chief's father, hoping that the latter
would give his consent at once to release the
prisoners for the recovery of the favourite bride.
But the oid man would not agree to the propo-
sal, giving as his reason, that the council had
resolved either to take the lives of the prison-
ers, or to make the enemy pay many horses and
much goods for their ransom. " Besha has a
tongue," continued the crafty old man. ** He
. can speak with the white men ; he can tell them
that if the bride is given up their friends shall
be returned, they will believe him, and all wUl
be well."

"Besha, though not particularly scrupulous
in his morality, was startled at first by this pro-
posal of treacherous and deliberate falsehood
towards one who had spared his life, and had
given him his liberty, besides loading him with

* It waa at one time currentiy rumoured among the
trappers of the Rocky Mountains, that a Crow warrior had
found and killed a white bison-bull, the skin of which he
wore as a robe. The story, whether true or false, is
adopted here, and assigned to the husband of " Bending-
wlUow."

presents ; but his conscience being of dn ex*
iremely elastic texture, he soon reconciled hina
self to the idea by the reflection that it was his
best, if not his only chance of saving his life from
the fury of the incensed White-Bull. He made
no reply to the old chief ; but, as he went away,
the two rogues exchanged a look which satis-
fied them that they understood each other.

The horse-dealer proceeded without delay to
the lodge where" Paul MuUer and Ethektom
were confined, into which he was admitted bjr
their guards. Having explained to the Mission-
ary that he was about to visit the white men's
camp for the purpose of liberating him and his
companion by the recovery of the captive bride,
he desired to be furnished with a sign by which
they would be induced to give her up without
hesitation; for Besha, in his rambles on the
Mexican frontier, had frequently met with the
Spanish traders, and although he could not read
letters himself, he knew how they were used for
the interchange of communication at a distance.

Before giving any reply, Paul Mtiller explain-
ed the state of affairs to his companion, and
asked his counsel.

" Methinks we should trust the fellow^" said
Ethelston, " for he has hitherto befriended us :
but let us not write anything that can Bndanger
the safety of Prairie-bird."

** I agree with you, my son," he reptied, '< and
will write accordingly."

So saying, he took a small pocket-book from
his breast, and wrote with a pencil npon a leaf
of it the following words : ^

" Ethelston and Paul MuUer send their afil^
tionate greeting. The bearer says that he can
liberate them if the captive bride is restored.
Reginald Brandon will consult with those about
him, and do what he thinks t»jest. Let the safety
of Prairie-bh-d, and of those who are now her
protectors, be the first object. Glad and thank-
ful should we be to embrace our dear friends
again ; but we are well and cheerful here ; in
joy and in sorrow, in life and in death, we are
in the hands of One who rules all for the best
Farewell."

Having received the paper, Besha lost no
tio^e in setting off to the opposite camp

CHAPTER .XXXIX.

DaTid Muir and his Daughter pay a Visit to Colonel Hnm
don. — The Merchant faicomes ambitious. — He entertains
Projects for Jessie's future Welfare, which do not o^if
cide with that young Lady's Wishes.

While the events related in the preceding
chapters were passing in the Great Western
Wilderness, the days of early summer glided
smoothly on at Moosbaone, uninterrupted by
any incident worthy of record. Aunt Mary
continued her round of busy occupation with
her usual indefetigable activity. Never could
there occur in the neighbourhood a case of sick*
ness or of sorrow to which she did not hasten
to administer the needful consolation; and in
the town of Marietta her t)eneTolent exerjons
were assisted by Jessie Muir, whose attendance
in her .father's store enabled her to gather all tho
current news from the numerous customers who
frequented it.

"The Merchant" (for so David Muir was
designated by all who did not wish to affront

TH£ PHAIRIE-BIRD.

161

lim) grew daily In importance and dignity.
fiis speculations in trade had been, for the most
part, snccessfal, and two or three of his sugges-
tions for the improvement of the town had oeen
adopted. A sharp attack of ferer had sabdued
for a season the domineering spirit of Dame
Christie, and David fonnd himself not only re-
spected by the neighbours, but even enjoyed the
sweet, thouffh brief delusion, that he was master
IB his own house.

Neither his pride nor his increasing wealth
interrupted, however, his close attention to busi-
ness ; and Colonel Brandon, finding that the af-
fairs entrusted to him were manag^ with great
ponctuahty and skill, treated him with corre-
sponding confidence.

On a fine summer's morning, about a month
ailer Ethelston^ departure for the Far- West,
the merchant's four-wheeled chaise stood before
his door, drawn, not by a sorry pony, but by a
strong horse, the condition and appearance of
which betokened the thriving circumstances of
the owner.' Jessie Muii^ wearing a very be-
coming bonnet, and a shawl newly arrived from
England, had just cast a passing look into the
oval mirror in the back parlour, and was busily
employed in giving directions respecting the
contents of a parcel about to be pmced in the
seat of the chaise, while Henry Gregson was
listening, with ill-dissembla:: impatience, to the
repeated cautions given to him by David as to
his conduct during the brief absence which he
meditated.

"Noo, Hairy" ffor thus was the name of
Harry pronounced in David's north-country
dialect), " ye maun be vera carefu' o* the store,
and see that the lads attend weel to the folk wha
come to btiy, and that Jane stays aye amang the
caps an' shawls and printed cottons, instead of
keekin out o' the window at a wbeen idle ne'er-
do-weels in the street ; and as for the last lot of
Bohea, ye can truly say it's the finest that ever
cam' to Marietta; I'm thinkin' the minister's
wife will be fain to buy a pun' or twa. And,
Hairy, mind that ye .... but the deil's in the
lad ! Whslt are ye glow'ring at, over my shoul-
der, as if ye se'ed a wraith, an' no listening to
what I'm sayin'l"

Here the merchant turned' round, and his eye
happening to fall upon a parcel of fire-irons, so
carelessly placed on an upper shelf that they
threatened the destruction of a pile of crockery
below, he ordered the shop-boy to secure the
ofiending toflgs, and, turning to Harry, con-
tinued in a more complacent tone, " It's nae
wonderj lad, that ye could na tak' your een oflf
they irons ; they had tike to make an awfu'
smash amang the cups and saucers; I'm glad
■tc see that ye're so canny and carefu' o* the
gi)ods."

Harry bit his lips, and made no reply, while
the merchant, who had already seen Jessie take
her seat in the chaise, was preparing to follow,
when he turned to the young man, and said, in
a low voice, " Ye'll no forget that the mistress
will need her gruel at midday 1"

" I will take cave that it is not forgotten ; and
I suppose, sir, the glass of French brandy is to
beput intoit?"

"Glass o' French brandy, ye daft chiel," said
the merchant, forgetting for a moment >the pru-
dential whisper; then resuming it, he added,
" Wha talks o' glasses o' French brandy 1 Ye
ken, tho', that the mistress has no gotten her
•trength yet, and she said she would like just

four spoonfu's o' brandy in the griiel, to gie't a
taste and keep the caufd out o' her wame; Ye
ken the mistress's ain spoon in the tea-cup-
board 1"

"Yes, sir, I know it well," replied Harry,
with demure gravity, adding, half aloud, las bis
principal drove from the door, " and a preciouj
gravy-spoon it is; before it is four times filled
and emptied it will make the largest wine-glass
in the store'run over the brim, and the old lady's
tongue go like a mill-wheel. Never miQd, for
Jessie's sake I'll brew the gruel as stifif as my
father's grog, and bear Dame Christie's scolds
without complaint."

" He's a canny, douce lad, yon Hairy," said
the merchant to his daughter, as they jested
leisurelv along the uneven but picturesque road
that led from Marietta to Mooshanne, "and
does na' care to rin about the toon like other
idle gillies, but seems aye content to min' the
store. Did ye see, Jessie, how he caught, wi'
ae blink o' his ee, the aims that were about to '
fa' amongst my best Wedgewood 1"

Had the merchant not been occupied, as he
put this question, in guiding the wheels between
sundry deep ruts and holes in the road, he could
not have failed to observe the heightened colour
that it brought into Jessie's countenance ; for
the maiden was conscious that, at the moment
referred to, Harry's gaze had been fixed, not
upon the fire-irons or the Wedgewood, but upon
her own comely self.

It is one of the peculiar pro])erties and tri-
umphs of love that, not content with securing its
own position in the human heart, it delights in
unsettling and metamorphosing the tenants by
which it was previously occupied. Under its
wayward sway boldness becomes timidity and
fierceness is transformed into gentleness, while
bashfulness is rendered bold, and simplicity has
recourse to the device? of cunning !

Thus Jessie Muir, who was naturally of a
frank, open disposition, but who had. a secret
presentiment that her father would reject the
suitiof her lover if it were now to be declared,
acquiesced demurely in his observation respect
ing the attention shown by Harry Gregson to
the business of the store.

"Weel, a-weel," continued the merchant;
" he's a gude lad, and no ill-faured neither; I'm
thinkin', Jessie, that he and Jean will, maybe,
fancy each other ; they're aye thegither i' the
store, an' the bit lassie might gae further and
fare waur than by takin* up wi' Hairy."

This speech was too much for Jessie's equa-
nimity; the coolness with which her father
spoke of his servant-maid " takIn' up" with her
lover stung her to the quick, and she replied,
tartly, " Father, I wish you would mind your
driving among these hples and stumps, instead
of talking about Jean and her idle nonsense.
Indeed, father, that last jolt nearly threw me out
of the chaise."

" Weel, Jessie, ye need na mak' such a pother
about a stump mair or less atween Marietta and
Mooshanne; and thoifgh I'll no say that my
drivin' is like that of Jehu, the son of Jehosha-
phat, ve need na fear that I'll coup the braw
new chaise for a' that."

Jessie was well pleased to have turned her
father's thoughts into another channel , and be-
ing a little ashamed of the momentary irritation
to which she had given way, she now exerted
herself to please and amuse "him, in which she
succeeded so well that they reached Mooshanne

TH£ PRAIRIS-BIRD.

In cheeiibl mood, and v^ wheels uainjured by
hole or stamp.

Colonel. Brandon, seeing the merchant drive
ap to the door just as he, with Lucy 9t/ lont
Maiy, were about to sit down to dioik ^ «vcnt
himself to the door, and, with the frank nospital-
ity of his mature, invited him and bis daughter
to stiaie their £;imily meal. This onyitation was
BO smaL gratification to the pride of David Muir,
who had on former visits to Mooshanne regaled
himself with Monsieur Perrot in the pantry.
The boxes and parcels having been safely de-

E>sited, and the chaise sent round to die stable,
ucy aided Jessie to unclos^ and unbonnet, and
in a few minutes the party, thus increased, found
themselves assemblea at the Colonel's table.

" My worthy friend," said the latter, address-
ing his guest, *' vou seem to have brought an un-
usual variety oi packages to-day; I suppose the
greater part of them are for Lucy's benefit rath-
er than for mine V

" Maybe Jessie has brought a few things fresh
frae Philadelphy for Miss Lucy to look at," re-
plied David; **but the maist |)art o' what I hae
wi' me the day, came late yestreen, by Rob
Mitchell's batteau from St. Louis. There's a
wheen letters and parcels frae Messieurs Stdner
and Roche, whieh will, nae doubt, explain the
settlement o' the matter anent your shares in the
ftir trade."

"Are there not any other letters from Saint
. Louis 1" inquired Lucy, colouring slightly.

" There's nane, my bonny young leddy," re-

Elied David, " excepting twa, ane frae auld Mil-
sr, to acknowled^ the receipt o' the last ten
barrels o' saut pork that I sent him, and anither
frae Reuben Stiggs, wha keeps the great outfit-
ting store for trappers, to oraer an early freight
o' blankets, Bibles, religious tracts, scalp-knives,
and whisky, for the Indian trade."

In spite of her disappointment, Lucy could not
forbear smiling at the gravity with which the
merchant enumerated this strange mixture of
goods ordered for a warehouse, to which the
missiona^ry and the trapper both resorted, for
their respective supplies. ^

The dinner passed agreeably enough; and
Jessie Muir having soon recovered from the dif-
fident shyness by which she had been at first over-
come, amused Lucy and Aunt Maiy by her qui-
et but shrewd observations on persons and things
in Marietta, while the merchant ^joyed, with
evident satisfaction, several glasses from a cer-
tain bottle of madeira, which he knew to have
oeen forborne years deposited in his own ware-
house. ^

As soon as dinner was over, the ladies retired
to Lucy's boudoir, where she examined the con-
tents of the packages whieh Jessie had brought
for her inspection, while, Colonel Brandon look-
ed over the letters and papers from St. Louis.
These proved to be of considerable importance,
as they announced that all the points in dispute
with the other fur company had been satisfacto-
rily arranged, and that his own shares, as weU
as those in which Ethelston's property was chief-
ly invested, had risen greatly in value. During
ttie perusal of this correspondence the Colonel
spoke from time to time familiarly and unre-
servedly with his companion. He had learned
from Lucy the attachment that existed between
Henry Gregson and the merdiant's daughter,
and had formed an internal resolution to contrib-
ute to its successful issue by advancing to the
yoQDg man a som sufficient to enable him either

to enter into partnership with the mercbaitt, or
to commence business on his own acconnt; bat
it was not his intention to develope this scheuM
until he had spoken with the elder Grtgao
wherefore be contented himself for the pres
with sounding the merchant in vague and g
erattenns respecting the disposal of bis daug
ter's hand.

"My good friend," said the Colonel, "now^
that we have despatched our business, it ociicun
to me that I ought to remind you of a circum*
stance which may not yet have entered y oar
thoughts, namely, that your daughter Jessie is
grown up to be a very pretty, sensible, and dis*
creet young woman, and that having no son of
your own, you ought to seek for her a worthy
husband, who might hereaiber aid her in com*
ibrting the declining years of Dame Christie and
yourself.''

During this address the merchant fidgeted on
his chair, and betrayed other evident symptoms
of uneasiness ; but he made no repljr^ ami ths
Colonel continued: " L think I know or a young
man who has long entertained an attachment for
her; and, if I am not mistaken, Miss Jessie
would be more likely to smile than to frown
upon his suit. Feeling myself not a little inter*
ested in his future prospects, I should, if Mrsu
Muir and yourself approve the match, willingly
contribute, as far as lies in my power, to tl^ir
comfortable settlement."

"Really, Colonel Brandon, ye're vera kind, I
can no' fin' words to thank ye," stammered Dn*
vid. who seemed to have lost his self-possession ;
ana before he could recover it so far as to make
any distinct reply, Lucy came into the room;
and taking the Colonel's arm, looked up afie&i
tionately into his face, saying, " Dear &ther, yon
have given enough time now to business; come
into my room and hear one of Jessie's Scotch
songs. I have just been listening to one which
was written, as she tells me, by Robert Bums:
it'is so simple and so beautiful, she has promised
to sing it over again for you."

The Colonel smiled, and followed his daugh-
ter, saying to the merchant as they lefr the room,
"We will speak further on that subject the next
time that we meet."

As soon as the littls party was assembled in
the boudoir, Colonel Brandon entreated Jessie
Muir to fulfil her promise of singing again the
song which had given so much pleasure to hia
daughter. Blushing slightly, Jessie complied,
and sung, in a voice of much natural sweetness
and without accompaniment:

" Oh ! wert thou in the ctrald, eaold Uast»

On 7ond«r l«a, on yonder lea ;
Mt jdaidie to the angry Mrf ,*

Fd shelter thee, Fd welter thee.
Or did misforttine's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, arouQd the blaw ;
Thy ^M&it should be my bosom,

To shiure it a', to duure it a'.

** Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black an' bfire, sae black an' bare;
The desert were a paradise.

If thou wert there, if thou wert there '
Or were I monarch of the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' tlue to reign ,
The brightest jewel in my crown

Should be my queen, should be mj queem*'

The Colonel having bestowed not undeserved
praise uponf the taste and feeling with which Je»-
sie had sung her simple melodfy, added, " Yet I
do mot remember these words among the songfc

* " Angry airt," the qvaxter whence the angrr wind waa
blowing t Shritar

THB PRAIRIV-BIRD.

1«V

(i€ the Ayrfthite baid. Lucy, yon liay« often i store, it was for powder, or a knife, or somf
read to me from the rolniae of his poems which j trifles for Miss Lacy, and not for any othei
came frooL Eng^iand; do yon lecoUeet having cause.''
•oen this song among them V

" Indeed I do not," replied Lacy ; *< yet it is so
full of his pNoeatiar force of expression and feel-
ing, that it is difficult to believe it to have been
written by any one else."

''I have been told," said Jessie, "that this song
was found among his papers after his death.
This may be the reason why yon have not seen
it in your TcHame."

The conrersatioa haring once tamed upon the
subject of the writings of Ajrrshice's immortal
bard, whose fame was then spreading far and
wide over the halatabie globe, it dwelt for some
time upon the attractive theme; and the tall
pines were already becinning to cast their length-
ened shadows over the lawn, ere the merdiant
remembered that Dame Christie migha be
**weazyin"' for his return, aod perhaps scold
him for exposing himself and his daughter to the
perils of the Mooshanne stump-stadded track in
ttie dusk of evening. The cn^uae having been :
ordered to the floor, David^uk put on his hat
and cloak» while Jessie donned her bonnet and
shawl; and a few minutes saw them, jogging
steadily away on their retam to Marietta,
t For some time neither broke the silence of
vhe deep forest through which they were driving,
for each had their own subject for meditation.
Jessie^ whose spirit was souened by the songs
of her father- land, and had been touched by the
gentle kindness of Lucy's manner towards her,
looked steadilv towards the west ; and while she
thought that she was admiring the gigantio hem-
lock pines, whose huge limbs now came out ii|,
bold relief from the ruddy saffron sky beyond,
her musings blended in sweet but vague confu-
^on the banks of Allan, Doon, and Ayr, with
Uiose of the river beside her, and pictured the
"Jamies," "Willies," and other "braw, braw
juls" of Scottish minstrelsy, in the form of no
less a personage than Harry Gregson.

She was roused from her reverie by tjie voice
of her father, whose meditations had taken quite
a different direction, as will be seen by the con-
versation that ensued between them.

'^ Jessie, it's a gae bonnie house, yon Moo-
shanne, an' the mailen's* the best in th' haill
Territory."

" Indeed, father, it is a very pretty house, and
most kind are those who live in it."

" Wad ye no' like to ^ve in ityoursel, Jessie V

*^ To say truth, father, I would rather live in a
smaller house that I might call my own."

" But suppose ye might c^' yon fine house
jrour own, what wad ye say then, lassie 1" This
mqninr was enforced with a significant poke
^m the merchant's elbow.

Jessie looked up in her fa^tier's face, and see-
ine that it was unusually srave, she replied,
** Father, I do not understand what you are aim«
ing at I am very happy in our house at Mari-
etta, and wish for none better."

"Ye're a fule," said the merchant,^ anmly.
**! tell ye, Jessie, ye're no better than a lule;
and when fortun' bauds oot her han' to ye. ye'll
no' gang half-way to tak* it. Hae ye no' seen
how oft Maister Reginald comes to our store,
and l^.angs aboot it like a tod round a hen-roost 1"

« Indeed, father, I have made no such remark ;
and if Master Reginald did often come to our

" Hoot awa' wi' your panther and knives, yt
blind hizzfe," said the merchant : ** it was to sei

tfxd speak wi' yoursel', and no for any othei
cause."

" Father, I am sure you ate mistaken ; Mastdr
Reginald would never so far forget the diffeiWse
in our rank and condition, and I sh<Hiki be Vfnr
sorry if he did."

" What do ye mean, lass, about ^difference o^
ra^k and ccmdeetion % Are the Muirs no' as
weeKbom as ony lord or duke 4a the auld kin-
tea 1 Do ye no' ken that my mother's father'a
sister was married to Muir of Drumiiwhappit|
an' that he was near eousia to the Laird o' Bla-
gowrie, wha married the sister o* the Earl o*
Grleacaim V Rank and condeetion, indeed I aa
I tauld ye just now, ye're neither mair nor less
than a fhle,. Jessie. Why, the Colonel spak'
wi' me anent the matter this vera day, an' said
that he'd do what lav in hia power to mak' a
smooth an' comfortable."

Jessie Muir was now, indeed, surprised ; foe
sfkd had hitherto imagined that the idea of Kegip
nald Brandon having taken a fancy to her, was
one of those crotchets which the merchant some-
times took up, and which he would then main-*
tain with all the pertinacious obstinacy of his
character; but she knew him to be incapable at
a direct untruth, and was, therefore, overwhelm*
ed with astonishment at the communication last
made to her.

We should not faithfully portray Jessie's
^character were we to say that she ezperieaoed
no secret gratification, when she learned that her
hand was sought by one possessed of so many
advantages of person and fortune ; but we should
do her injustice wefe we not to add, that the sen-
sation endured only for a moment ; and then her
heart reverting to Henry Gregson, she thought
only of the increased obstacles which would
now interfere with their attachment, and she
burst into tears.

" Diona greet, lassie, dinna greet,"* said the
merchant, surprised and somewhat softened by
this unexpected emodon, and h^ muttered to
himself, '* There's no kenning the twists and
krankums o' a woman's mind! I tell her that
she's courted by a weel-faured young man. wi'
the best prospects in the haill Territory, and she
taks on to greet like a skelpU toean^f

Afber various ineffectual attempts to draw
from her any explanation of the cause of her
grief, he ceased to interrogate her, wisely re-
solving to consult Dame Christie on the subject,
and they drove on in silence until they reached
their home in Marietta.

As they entered the house they were met by
Harry Gregson, who led the way into the par-
lour, where he placed in the merchant's hand a
paper which had arrived during his absence,
and which proved to be an extensive order foi
articles to be shipped for St Louis on the follow-
ing day.

While David Muir ran his eye over the list,
calculating the amount of profit which he might
expect to realize from the whole, young Greg-
son, observing the tears not yet dry upon Jes-
sie's cheek, cast upon her a look of anxious a£>
fectioUate inquiry, which seemed only to increase
her confusion and distress.

VWB-lmildiag*.

1

•CryorwMp.

tWhip^ child

168'

THE PRAIRIE-BrRU.

*' Fatner, I am tii^ed," she whispered, in a sab-
iued voice, " and will go to my room to rest/'
Having received his embrace, she turned towards
the door, where Gregson presented to her a candle
that he had lighted for her, and in so doing he took
her hand and pressed it ; she withdrew it gently,
and,, in reply to his " Gk)od night, Miss Jessie/'
gave him in silence a parting look so full of
mingled tenderness and grief, that his anxiety was
no fonger to be controlled, and he resolved to
draw from thp merchant some explanation of her
agitation. Seeing that he had at length finished
his careful perusal of the paper, he said, ** I think,
sir, that Miss Jessie looks very unwell this even-
ing: has anything happened to hurt or alarm
herr*

" Naething, naething. my gude lad, only I tauld,
her some ^ews that ought to have made her blithe
as a lavroch,* and she thought fit to wet her een
wi* doolt anent it"

" That is strange, indeed," replied the young
man; and he added, in a hesitating tone, "I
hope, sir, you will not ^ink me impertinent, as
I take so much interest in all that concerns your
familyj if I inquire' what was the nature.oi the
good news that you communicated to Miss Jes-
sie r

" Why, Hairy," replied the merchant, sinking
his voice to a confidential whisper, " as ye're a
discreet cannie lad, that'll no crackt about they
things all ower the toon, I may just tell ye that
Jessie — *'

" David ! David !" screamed a shrill voice from
the room above, ''are ye gaun to haverS there

the Ige-lang night 1"
** Comin' this i

moment, Christie," said the obe-
dient husband, leaving the room as he spoke,
with the air and countenance of one so thorough-
ly hen-pecked, that Harry Gregspn, in spite of
his anxiety, laughed outright; saying to him-
self, as many a lover ha£ said before and since,
*'How unlike is Jessie's voice to that bf her
mother!"

CHAPTER XL.

Ceslia poTsues his Career as a Diplomatist. — ^An agreeable
Tdte-A-T^te disagreeablj interrupted.— The Steps that
Mah^ga took to support his declining Interests among the
Crows.

We lejf^ Besha engaged in an attempt to lib-
erate the bride of the youn^ Crow chief, by pro-
posing to Reginald and his party an exchange
of prisoners.

On arriving at the camp he was allowed to
pass by the sentries, and took his way up the hill
to the tent of Prairie-bird. As soon as the ob-

1'ect of his errand became known a council was
leld, consisting of Ueginald Brandon, War-Ea-
gle, Baptiste, Fierre, and Wingenund, and, hav-
ing heard the proposal made on the part of the
Crows, they proceeded to deliberate on the course
to be pursued.

They could have no hesitation in agreeing to
an exchange of prisoners, could that be effected
upon equal terms, but the Crows insisted upon
the return of B^^nding- willow as a preliminary
Btep towards the release of their prisoners, and
to this Baptiste and Pierre were most stronglv
opposed, especially the latter, who had experi-
enced on more than one occasion the proverbial
treachery of the Upsaroka tribe

•Lark.

t Sonow.
t Chatter

Reginald was disposed, wUh the fearless g^a^
erosity of his nature, to be satisfied with binding
them by the most solemn obligations, recognised
by their customs, to release their prisoners ob
the safe return of Bending- willow, but his Opin-
ion was overruled by his companions ; and the
horsendealer's mission wore a most, unpromising
aspect, when he bethought him of delivering the
note written by Paul Miiller to Reginald.

The perusal of this effected an immediate al-
teration in the sentiments of the council, and the
restoration pf the captive bride was decided upfja*
She was seated in the outer compartment of Prai*
rie-bird's tent when Besha entered, accompanied
by Reginald, to inform her of her liberation.

Pierre, 'who was still suspicious of some
treachery, and who had ^me knowledge of the
Crow language, placed his ear at the comer of
the aperture with the intention of discovering
any under-plot that might be going forward.

Besha, however, was loo crafty to be caught
in such a trap, or else he did not intend to make
Bending-wiUo^ the confident of his real inten-
tions, so he simply announced ^o her that she
was free to return to her husband's lodge, and
that the white prisoners were to be restored in
exchange for her.

Shaking off the sadness by which she had been
of late overcome, she sprang to her feet, and her
eyes sparkling with grateful joy, she pressed heor
hand upon Reginald's breast, then looking round,
she pronounced distinctly the name of" Olitipa."

On hearing herself t^us called. Prairie-bird
came forth from her inner tent, and having learn-
ed the intelligence that, by the restoration of her
new friend, the liberation of Paul Miiller was to
be effected, she embraced the former and pre-
sented her with a necklace of coral. Bendmg-
willow returned the embrace with affectionate*
earnestness, and was then led by Besha from
the tent.

As they passed towards the stockade, Pierre,
whose suspicions were not yet entirely lulled,
and who felt a deep interest in the safety of Ethel-
ston, came up to the horse-dealer, and whispered
in his ear, " If the tongues of the Crows, or of
Besha, are forked, if the white prisoners aie de-
tained or injured, many widows shall howl in
the camp, and the tongues of the wolves shall be
red with Upsaroka blood !"

The Prairie-Guide spoke these words in a tone
of deep meaning, and Besha knew that he was
not a man likefy to utter an idle or empty threat ;
he answered accordingly, " If Besha lives, the
prisoners shall return unhurt before the next
sunset," and so saying pursued his unmolested
way to the Crow-camp.

While they were crossing the valley which
separated the two encampments, Reginald, War-
Eagle, and Baptiste still lingered near the door
of the tent, discussing the events of the day, and
expressing their respective opinion? as to tne
probable conduct of tne Crows.

" What savs Prairie-bird T' inquired Reginald,
addressing 4ne maiden, who had been a not un-
interested auditor of the discussion.

" Has not the Crow chief," she replied, ** gir-
en a faithful promise that on the return of tte
bride he would restore my &ther and his friend
unhurt T*

(I Ue has."

. " What then is the doubt 1"
" The doubt is. whether the word of the Croli
can be believed! whether he may not still df«
tain, or injiire his prisoners t^.

•.ise...

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

150

Frairie-bird mused for a few seconds, as if
debating within herself the possibility of such
fiUsehood ; then raising her head, she said in a
tone of emphasis, "Fear not: my father and
your friend will return \m us uninjured."

**I accept the omen, sweet prophetess I" ex-
claimed Reginald, cheerfully ; *< and will believe
that their thoughts are honest and straightfor-
ward as you deem them, unless their conduct
should prove the contrary: in that event," he
added, turning to War-Eagle, " my Indian broth-
er and I will see what our own heads and hands
can do to set free our friends."

The chief replied not: but the sarcastic smile
that played over his dark features, showed how
GtUe he shared in Prairie-bird's opinion of Up-
saroka faith.

Meanwhile, Bending-willow returned in safe-
tjT to her lodge, where Besha presented her, with
in air of triunaph, to her impatient lord. The
other wives and women retired while she related
to him her adventures, and from the mingled
laughter and caresses with which he listened to
her narrative, it is probable that she confessed
to him the motive that had induced her to seek
the Medicine of the white tent.

As soon as she concluded, he desired one of
his voung men to lead before the lodge a favour-
ite horse, swift, high-couraged, and strong, from
the back of which he had killed, with lance and
bow, many a bison cow. Placing the bridle of
lawhide in the hands of the horse-dealer, he said,
"Besha has brought back the Sweet-scented-
villow to its bed, he shall not go awav with
empty hands. When he rides through the vil-
lage the warriors shall say that his horse is fit
to cany a chief; and if any speak to him bad
words, let him tell them to beware, for White
Boll calls him brother!"

So saying, the young savage, who bad now
eompletelr recovered his good humour, half-lift-
ed, nalf-tbrew the astonished dealer upon the
hoise's back, and turned again into the lodge to
renew his caresses to his recovered bride.
I ''All ffoes well 1" thought Besha within him-
8ei( as he rode towards his own quarters, pro-
ving with professional skill, the paces and quali-
ties of his new steed. " All goes well I and this
animal will fetch me two hundred dollars in the
lower Arkansas country ; few such are to be
found there. 1 wonder where this Crow thief
found or stole iti If I can manage with fine
words to get^a few more skins from this tribe,
and a few more presents from the white men, I
will join the^summer return- train from the Black
fiills, and make my way back towards the
east"

ladiiging in these honest and disinterested
meditations, the horse-dealer arrived before his
own lodge, where his Indian wife awaited his
coming with a s(avoury mess of bison-meat and
narrow; after despatching which hesmok^ his
Pipe^ without permitting any reflections concem-
mg the prisoners whose cause he had so shame-
Jessly betrayed, to disturb his appetite, or his
present jBzy enjoyment.

It was fortunate for th;m that they had an ad-
vocate more honest and zealous m a quarter
where they least suspected it This was Bend-
Ing-wiUow; who, after showing to her lover-hus-
band the coral necklace given to her by Prairie-
bird, and repeating to mm the kind treatment
that she had experienced in the tent, entreated
him to use his influence for the restoration of the
pTisoaers.

This she was not able to effect, as he stated
that they bek>nged to the great council, who
would decide upon their fate, after consulting
the Medicine ; but she obtained from him a prom-
ise that he would in the meantime protect them
from all chance injury, as well as from the vio-
lence of any personal en^y who might beai
them ill-will.

The deliberations of the Indian tribes are, in
fact, carried on in a manner more strongly re-
sembling those of civilised nations than is usu-
ally believed; that is, a few leading men meet
together, and arrange the plan of operations to be
pursued, after which they convoke the grand
council by whatever name it may be called, and
insensibly lead its members to propose, second,
and carry the measures previou^y agreed upon«
Thus it was with the Cfrows upon the present
occasion. The old chief of the band, as soon as
he learned the safe return of Bending-willow, sent
for his son the White-Bull, whose rank as lead-
er of the braves entitled him to be present at a
secret council ; two other warriofB, of mort* ad-
vanced age and experience, were also admitted ;
and these four being assembled, they entered
upon their deliberations with a freedpm of thought
and s^ch such as could not have been consist-
ent with the forms and usages of a public meet-
ing.

It would be tedious to relate in order the vari-
ous arguments that were adduced by the several
speakers in turn ; suffice it to say, that the father
of White-Bull, independent of his claim to au-
thority as chief, happened to be the oldest man
and the greatest rogue present; all which concur-
rent advantages gave a preponderating influence
to his advice. The result was, as might have
been expected, its adoption by the unanimous con-
sent of his three companions ; and, as the after-
movements of the band were regulated by it, a
briefsketchof its purport and objects will not be
misplaced.

His counsel, stripped of Indian imagery and
ornament, was, that they should for the present
detain the prisoners; and in order to avoid the
consequences of the violent ebullition of resent-
ment which might be expected on the part of the
White Men and Delawares, that they should in-
stantly decamp, and matching towaras the south
and west by the most intricate and difficult pass-
es, make their way to the neighbourhood of the
district where Mah6ga informed them that he
had concealed his goods and stores. These it
was their intention, of course, to appropriate, and
afterwards to deal with their aangerous and
haughty possessor as might be found most expe-
dient. Meanwhile it was certain that the allied
band would follow their trail for the recovery o*
the prisoners, and if they did so, with their bag-
gage and Prairie-bird's tent, the Crows had lit-
Ue fear of being overtaken, excepting when they
chose to halt for the purpose ; if, on the contrary,
the allied band should divide, the chief knew
that from the intimate acquaintance of his war-
riors with the localities, they would easily fina
means to attack and overcome the weaken-
ed party left in charge of the tent, and its won*
denul mistress.

This outline of operations being settled, it was
further agreed that the prisoners should be en-
trusted to the care of White-Bull, who made
himself responsible for their security, and who
was to lead the van of the retreat, while Besha
was summoned, and ordered to explain to the
Osage chief the proposed plan oC (^rations, aoL

160

THB PRAIRIE-BIRD.

that to him wm to h« sssigned the honourable
post of deifending the rear of the march.

In conseqitc^iee of all these preliminary ar-
rangementS) a formal coaacil was sammoned,
a^ which they ijreie proposed and agreed upon,
with the sanction of the Medicine, and a treaty
was entered into with Mah^ga, by which he
bound himself with his companions to fight faith-
fully for the Crowds, and to. make ov«r to them
one half of his goods concealed in the p che, on
condition that they should do everything in their
pbwer to recover fi^ him the Great Medicine
of the tent, and his baggage now in the hands of
the Ekiawares.

These arrangements and agreemients were no
sooner comple^ than they were carried iuto ex-
fieaition with a speed, order, and noiseless silence
peculiar to these roving tribes, whose fate is so
oQ/m dependent upon the secrecy s^vl celerity of
their movements.

While these things were going forward in the
Crow camp, Repaid sat by the side of Prairie-
bird under thesmall cedar^^ree in front of her tent.
Being still somewhat stiff £rom the wounds and
bruises received in the late attack, he gladly avail*
ed himself of that pretext for enjoy iag a few hours
of repose in the society of his beloved, while he
left the chief care oi the defence of the camp to
Baptiste and War-Eagle.

His eye wandered occasionally across the val-
ley below, and scanned with an anxious look the
oppo^te hill upEm which the dusky figures of the
Crows were seen moving to and fro between the
lodges and bushes, until it returned to rest upon
the lovely oountOEiance of his companion. That
countenance, which was now lighted up by the
parting rays of the declining sun, beamed with
emotions too deep for utterance.

Her love for Reginald was not like the love so
often found in the artificial world of society, a
mere prefer^kce, engendered, perhaps, by fancy,
and nurtured by habit, accident, or mere conge-
niality of tastes, but a single absorbing passion,
the intensity of which she trembled to acknowl-
fdge even to herself. All the poetry, the eQlhusi^
asm, the yearnings of womanly feeling in her na-
ture were gathered into a focus, and nothing but
her strong and abiding sense of religion prevent-
ed that love from being idolatry.

As her eye fell upon the recent scar u^on his
farehead, and the sliog in which his left arm was
envelopeil i^e remembered that twice already
had his blood been shed in her defence, twice
had her life been saved at the risk of his own.
Tears of delicious gratitude, tears sweeter than
any smiles that ever dimpled the cheek of joy
b^an to flow, and half averting her face from
her lover, she turned it thoughtfmly towards the
western horizon.

The orb of the sun had just disappeared be«
nind the ragged and £sur-distaBt mountain range,
whose towering and snow-clad peaks stood oat
in clear relief from the deep masses of cloud
whose wavy edges still reflected his golden light.
A mellowed haze wrapped as in a saQron man-
tle the nearer hills, whose irregular forms, some
rocky and precipitous, otliers undulating and
covered with dense forests of pine and cedar,
finrmed the foreground of the magnificent even-
ing landscape. A single 9tar Simmered palely
in the twilight heaven, a forerunner of the thou-
sand glorious lights about to emeigie fiK>m i^
unfathomed vault. To look up fix)m nature to
nature's God was the habitual process of Prai-
ci0-btm'4i wadf a Mut nsulting i^ii^ from tiv&

fatherly instructions of the Missionary, but
chiefly from her constant study of the Scripture
amid scenes calculated to impress its lessons
most deeply upon her.

/Such a scene was th^now before' her, and as
the deepening shadowt lell upon mountain, Kbr-
est, and vale, a holier i aim stole over the cur-
rent of her thoughts, and imparted to her eloquent
features an expression in which th^ sweet con-
sciousness of reciprocated earthly afibetlon was
blended with adoring gratitude to Him whose
everlasting name is Love.

The earnest and aflecUonate gaze of Reginald
was still riveted upon her countenance^ when a
gentle sigh fell upon his watchful ear. Taking,
her hand within his own, he whispered **H
Prairie-bird sad 1 — Does any sorrow oisturh hes
peace V

Dropping to the eart& those humid eyes so.
late upraised to heaven, she replied, in a hesi-
tating voice^ ''Kot sad» dear Reginald, but . . .
afraid-"

"Afraid! dearest; and of what 1 Nay,bllish
not, but tell me your cause of fear."

''Airaid of too much happiness, of too much
love. I tremble, and doubt whether my thought
are such as Grod approves."

*' Be not rash nor unj ust in self-condemnation,"
said Reginald, in a chiding tone, while secreUy
delighted by a. confession which his heart inter-
preted aright J "think you that the Creator Who
implanted these aflections within us^ and who
has pronounced repeated sanctions and blessings
upon the bond of wedded love, think you, dear-
est, that He can be ofiended at your love for one
to whom you have plighted your troth, and who^
albeit in many respects unworthy of such a
treasure, has at least the merit of repaying it a
hundredfold !"

" Unworthy !" repeated Prairie-bird, in a tone
of reproachful tenderness,— -other words trembled
upon her lips, but the instinct of maidenly reserve
checked their utterance, and she was silent.

" Nay, if you like not the word, it shall bd
unsaid," whispered Reginald, gently pressing the
hand which he held within his own ; ^* and my
whole future life shall be a constant endeavour
to make it untrue. Let me, however, guess aX
the secret cause of your f^ar, and of the sigh
that escaped you,— you were thinking of yam
dear fatherly instructor, and were afraid that h»
would not return T*'

" Indeed my thoughts were not of him at the
moment," she replied, with earnest simplieity;
"nor am I afraid on his account."

" Why is he not vet in the hands of an enemy
whose cruelty and treachery are proverbiall
What if the Ur6w chief should, in spite of his
solemn promise, refuse to pve up his prisoners V*

" It cannot be, * she replied gravely ; "God wfl.
not permit such; falsehood."

^*Vou sneak," said Regin^dd, "like one whc
hasstudiea chiefly your own heart, and. the pfe-
cious book now lying at vour side; but even
there you may h^ve read that the Almighty
sometimes permits falsehood and wickedness to
triumph upon earth."

"It is too true," replied Prairie-bird; "yet I
feel a strong assurance that our friends will re-
turn to tts in safety. I cannot tell whence jt
comes^whether from a dream sent in the
watches of the night, or the secret whispers <if
some mysterious and unseen counsellor, but it
brings hope, rest, and comfort to my heart"

"Gfod forbid," said Reginald, passionately.

THE PRALRIE.BIBD.

Ml

« Uiat I should say anything likely to banish such
Bweet guests from so sweet a home. Bat if the
Crow chief should be guilty of this treacherous
act of falsehood, I will endeavour to inflict upon
him a yengeance so signal, as shall deter him
and his tribe from any future repetition of the
crime."

*' It is lawful,** replied the maiden, " to recover
our friends by force or device, if they are detain-
ed by treachery ; but remember, dear Reginald,
that vengeance belongs not to our erring and
fallen race; if the Upsaroka should sin as you
expect, defeat, if you can, his evil schemes, but
eave his punishment to the Great Avenger, who
can make his latter days loathsome as those of
tjrehazi, or his <ieath sudden and fearful as that
of Ananias and his guilty spouse."

ReginaH coloured deeply, for his conscience
reminded him that on a late occasion he had
used, in a discussion with War-Eagle, the same
aigument as that now applied with so much
force to himself, and he felt ashamed of having
foigotten, in the excitement of his own passions,
a troth which he had laboured strongly to im-
press upon another.

" Thanks, dearest monitress " he replied, " for
recalling me to my better sell; would that you
were always by my side to control my impa-
tience and reprove the hastiness of my temper.
I^ay, I trust ere long that you will be always at
my side ; your father and instructor will return,
and will unite us in those holy bands not to be
severed by man. You will then leave the prai-
lie and the tent^ and come with me to a home
where a second father and a loving sist^ claim
a share in your affection."

" It shall be so," replied Prairie-bird in a low
and earnest voice ; *' read my answer in the lan-
guage of one who, like myself, was humble and
mendless, but who, trusting in her God, found in
a itrange land a husband and home."

" Nay, read it to me," said Reginald, antici-
pating her selection; "howeyer beautiful the
words may be, your voice will make them fall
more sweetly on my ear."

Prairie-bird opened the book, but she' looked
not on the page, for the words were treasured in.
her heart; and she repeated in a voicQ faltering
from deep emotion, '< Whither thou goest I will
go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thv
people shall be my people, and thy God m^ Grod.
Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be
buried ; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if
aught but death part thee and me."

As she concluded these words, she looked up
to the face of her betrothed with eyes beaming
with truth and affection. The strong man was
overcome; he could only utter a deep Amen.
The consciousness that the trustful, guileless be-
ing now at his side had surrendered to his keep-
ing the ark of her earthly happiness, mingled an
awful responsibility with the more tender feel-
ings that possessed his Inmost soul ; he felt what
has been so truly described by a poet out of '
&shion and out of date,— that

" The treasiUM of the deep are not so predooi
Ab are the concealed comforta of a man
Locked np in woman's loye."

Then did he record a secret and solemn vow
that he would guard his precious treasure with
a miser's care ; the stars began more brightly to
twinkle in the sky, the watch-fires emitted
through the deepening gloom a clearer rav ; and
as the head of Prairi^bird lightly rested upon
her lover's shoulder, they gave themselves up
L

to the delicious revaries suggested by the hour,

the scene, and hearts overcharged with bliss.

The happy pair were suddenly aroused from
their waking dream by the sharp crack of a rifla,
the flash of which Reginald distinctly saw
through the bushes on the side of the hill below
them ; a bullet whizzed close to his head, and a
half-suppressed cry broke from Prairie-bird.

" Speak, love, speak I" he exclaimed in fhin*
tic alarni; " speak but one word to tell me yon
are not hurt I"

" I am not hurt " she replied; "God be prais
ed that you are also unharmed 1 Nay^ dearest,
do not break from me." Here the report of fire-
arms was again heard, mingled with the shouts
and tumult of a sudden fray. " Our friends are
on their guard I you are still weak f^om youi
late wound! Oh, Reginald, stay I I entreat— I
implore 1"

But he heard her not; tHe din of arms and the
foul attempt at murder, directed, as he believed,
against the life of his betrothea, had awakened
the tempest within him ; the wounded arm was
released from its sling, and. with drawn cutlass
in his right hand, he rushed down the steep
slope of the hill with the reckless speed of a
madman. We will now proceed to explain the
cause of this sudden interruption of their tSU-^
UU.

It has been alieady mentioned that Besha had
been charged with explaining to Mah^a the
arrangements and plans adoptM at the Upsa-
roka council. No sooner had he done so^ tnan
the Osage chief, finding that the evacuation of
the camp was to take place during the night,
resolved upon striking, before they withdrew
from the neighbourhood, one blow at the jEbes
wjio had defeated and baflied him.

Too cunning to be deceived by the Crows, ax
to be misled h^ the flattery of Besha, he knew
that as he had now no more presents to ofier,.
bis only chance of retaining any authority or
influence with th^ was by such deeds of da-
ring as should compel them to look up to him as
a war-leader. This feeling, stimulated by his
tnirst for revenge, led him without hesitation to
attempt a feat which, if successful, must render
him the terror not less of his allies than of his
foes.

As soon as the Horse-dealer had left him he
summoned his few remaining followers, and in*
formed them that they must prepare to march
during the ensuing night; he told them also that
he was about to set forth himself on the war*
path alone, and all that he required of them was
to conceal themselves amoi^g the bushes fron]>-
ing towards the enemy's camp, so as to cover
his retreat in case of'^ his being pursued from>
that quarter, and that he intended to return, it:
possible, on a horse.

The men listened with silent attention to their
leader's orders, and retired without making,
either comment or replv. Mahega then strip-
ped himself of every ornament that could attract
attention, and threw ofi^ his hunting-shin and'
leggins, thrusting a brace bf small pistols a: d a i
long knife into his waistrbelt; and with no oth-
er covering than a light pair of moccasisjs on
his feet, he stole out of the camp at a point
which was not visible from the enemy & cuar-

ters.

Availing himself of every ravine and undula-
tion of ground, he made a swift circuit in the *
distant prairie, and approached the Delaware
camp on the north-eastern side, where^ as has

1

ted

THE PRAIftlB-BIRD.

been before memioned, ii was ptotected by a
precipitous cliff. He had obsenred a narrow
valle^ in this direction, not more than half a
toile from the base of the rock, to which the
white men drove their horses for pasture ^ and
as a view of it was commanded from the height,
they were only guarded by a' single man, who
drove them back in the evening to the camp.
The man who happened to be on daty there was
a hunter belonging to the band brought out by
Pierre, a brave, and somewhat reckless fellow,
who had been inured to all the hardships and
risks of a mountain trapper's life.

The crafty Osage, havmg succeeded in obtain-
ing the important advantage of seeing his oppo-
nent before he could be himself perceived, di-
rected his movements accordingly. He might,
periiaps, h^ve succeeded in creeping near enough
to shoot him, and have gained the shelter of his
own camp before he could be overtaken; but
such was not his purpose. He had determined
^^t the bullet now in his rifle should lodge in
^ the heart of Reginald or War-Eagle, and no
' other life could satisfy his revenge.

i^ot more than a hundred paces from the spot
where the unconscious sentry sat, with his fkce
towards the Upsaroka camp, the valley made a
bend, becoming at the same place narrower and
steeper in its banks ; thither aid Mah6ga stealth-
ily creep, and on reaching it lound that he was
not witnin sight of his enemy.

After waiting some time, durln? which he
carefully noted every bush and hillock that
might be made subservient to his projected plan,
he saw feeding towards him a steadv old pack-
horse, whose scarred back and sides showed
that he had carried many a weary burthen over
mountain and prairie. The Osage remarked
also, that the animal had a long laryette of hide
roimd its neck. As soon as he felt assured that
it had passed the bend, and could no longer be
seen by the man on guard, he caught the end of
the laryette, and led his uni^sisting quadruped
prisoner to a spot further up the valley, where
some thick bushes ofiered him the means of
concealing himself. Here he twisted the laryette
firmly around the fore-leg of the horse, and en-
sconcing himself behind the largest of the bush-
es, patiently awaited the result.

As the shades of evening drew on, the hunter
rose to collect and drive his horses to the camp.
Having gathered those in the lower part of the
valley, he afterwards came in searcn of those
that had strayed beyond the bend. When his
eye fell upon the old pacW-horse cropping the
long grass, and occasionally the younger shoots
of the adjacent bushes, he muttered to himself,
''The old fool hasn't sense to know summer
from winter ; there he stands, gnawing the twigs
off the bushes, when he might be eating the best
grass in the bottom."

As soon as he reached the animal whom he
thus apostrophised, he laid down his ri£e, iu
order to tree the entangled leg from the laryette.
While stooping for this purpose, a slight rus-
tling of leaves caught his ear; and ere he could
.ook round the fierce Osage sprang upon him
with the bound of a tiger. The unrortunate
man strove to catch up his rifle, but the foot of
the giant was upon it, a grasp or iron was upon
his throat, and ere he could utter a sound or
raise a hand, the knife of the sarage was buried
in his heart.

Having flms far succeeded in his plan, Ma-
h^ dressed^himself from head to toot in the

clothes of his victim, taking posses9fon at the '
same time of his kniie and pistols, having first
deliberately scalped him, and placed the scalp
in his own belt, below the ill-fated huutei%
shirt. When thus accoutred and attired, the
Osage grinned with satisfaction,^ and proceeded
to the next, and more dangerous portion oi his
enterprise.

His first step was to select and secure the
best horse from those pasttiring in the valley,
which he bridled with the laryette already men-
tioned ; and having slung the hunter's rise over
his shoulder, he mounted his newly-acquired
steed, and began Wisurely to drive the others
towards the Delaware camp. As soon as he ,
emerged from the Valley he came in sight of the
enemy's sentries and outposts; but the well-
knowti wolf-skin cap, and elk-skin shirt, attract-
ed no particular attention, and he rode delib-
erately forward until he reached a huge pine-
tree, the ^hade of whose branches was rendered
yet more dark 1^ the dee|>ening gloom of eveii^
ing. Here he fastened his horse; and leaving
the others to find their wajr as they best might,
he struck boldly into the thicket that fring^ th* .
base of the hill.

Conscious that he was now in the midst of
enemies, and that his life must depend upon his
own skill and address, he crept forward up the
steep ascent, now stopping to listen for the sound
of a footfall, how straining^ bis eyes through the
dusky shade, in search of some light or object
by which to direct his course. Elnowing every
inch of the ground, he was soon able to distin-
guish the angle of the stockade, and at no great
distance above it the white tent, partially light-
ed up by a fire, round which were seated Mon-
sieur Perrot, Pierre, and sever^ others.

, As night drew on, and the surrounding scen-
ery became involved in deeper gloom, the watch-
fire emitted a stronger light, by which Mah^ga
caught, at length, a view of Reginald seated by
the side of Prairie-bird. All the stormy pas-
sions in his breast, jealousy, hatred, and re-
venge, were kindled at the sight ; apd as soon
as he thought the muzzle of his rifle truly aimed
at his rival's heart, he fired. Fortunate was il
for Reginald that the light cast by the fire was
flickering and uncertain, or that hour had been
his last.

The savage, without waiting to see the result
of his shot, wnich had alarmed the hunters and
the Delawares patroling near the spot, rushed
down the hill towards the tree where he had lefl
his horse. Twice was his path crossed by an
enemjr; the first he felled with a blow on the
head from the discharged rifie, and the second,
which was no less a person than honest Bap-
tiste himself, he narrowly missed, in firing a
pistol in his face at so near a distance that, al- '
though unhurt by the ball, his cheek was' singed
by the powder. '*

Completely taken by surprise, the Guide fired
into the bushes after the retreating figure of hi&
unknown foe, and then dashed forward in pur-
suit; but the darkness fatoured the escape ol x
the Osage, who never paused nor turned again
until he reached the spot where he had fastened
the horse; then vaulting on its back, he shouted
his insulting war-ciy, in a voice that might be
heard above all the mingled sounds of pursuiL
struck his heel into the flank-of the captured
steed, and, unscathed by any of the bullets that
whistled after him, reacaed the Crow camp itt
feafeqr.

THE PRAIRIB-BIRD.

]6i

The Os^ge vaniofs looked with some snr-
prise upon their chief in his onusual attire, bat
be briefly returned their greeting, and proceeded
without delay to the lodge of the Upsaroka
chie£ A tire was burning there, by the light of
which he recognised the old man seated in the
midst, with his son, White-Bull, on his right
and Besha at some distance on his leA. Ma-
h6ga had by this time thrown off the garments
of the slain hunter, which were slung across the
horse. Leading the latter forward, until the
light of the fire fell upon it and upon himself,
he stood a moment in an attitude of haughty
tnd silent expectati )d. White-Bull and his fa-
ther raised their eyes in surprise at the sudden
appearance of their guest, and in involuntary
admiration of his herculean figure, the fine pro-
portions of which were seen to advantage by
the ruddy glare of the blazing logs, v

" Let Besha tell my brother he is welcome,"
said the old chief, cautiously: <<and let him in-,
quire whence he comes, and what he has to'
say.**

" Mah^ga is come," replied the proud Osage,
" from a visit to the pale-faces and the Lenap6
women. His hands are not empty; the shirt,
the leggins, the belt, the head-aress, and the
norse of a white hunter he has brought as a
present to the Upsaroka chief. If White-Bull
will receive the Mifdicine-tDeapon,* the heart of
Mah^ will be glad."

White-Bull and his father accepted the offer-
ed ])reseiits with every demonstration of satis-
faction. The latter, again addressing Besha,
desired him thus to speak :

'* Mah^a foigets that all his goods are in the
hands of his enemies— does he keep nothing for
Wmselfl"

The Osage made no reply, but drawing the
tecent scalp from his belt, and pointing to it, the
cnife still red with human blood, be smiled
.scornfully, and strode through the camp back
'o his own lodge. His purpose was effected ;
he had succeeded in his daring exploit, and, al-
though uncertain of the result of the shot fired
at Reginald, he had res^ained some of his influ-
ence over the Upsaroka chief and his intract-
able son. Mah^ga pondered over these things
in his lodge, as he mechanically attached the
scalp of hi^ last-killed foe to a thong, on which
were already fastened many similar trophies of
his former prowess.

His musmgs were soon disturbed by the voice
if Besha,^ who entered the lodge, bearing a sack
of considerable dimensions, which be deposited
upon the ground. *'Mah6ga is a great war-
rior," said he, greeting the Osage with some-
thing of the reluctant courtesy which a terrier
^hows to a mastiff; " his name will be heard far
among the tribes of the Upsaroka nation. The
^reat Chief wishes^) make his Washashe
brother a present: tl^tf horses stand without
the lodge to carry the followers of Mah6ga on
thepath oi the bison, or of the Lenap6."

Xne eye of the chief brightened with fierce
pleasure at this annoan cement, as two of his
few remaining men were unhorsed, and he satis-
fied himself, by going to the door of the lodge,

* At the date of tMs tale the uie of fire-anns was very
Uttle known among the tribes in the neighboarhood of the
Rocky Monataias ; and in most of their huguages, to thia
4ay, the words by which they express *' a rifle" aignify,
ttsuUy, '* medicine-we^poB," ** wondeifal flre-w^apoix,''

fire-tabe," fte., Ae.

that the horses now presented to him were good
and fit for service.

" That is not all," continued the horse-dealer;
"White-Bull knows that the medicine- weapon
cannot live without food; he has sent me to ot- •
fer this bag to Mah6ga."

As he spoke Besha opened the sack, and ex-
posed to the view of the Osage powder and lead
sufficient for fifty or sixty shots, and half a
dozen pair of strong moccasins, such as are
made by the Crow women for their lords.

" The hand of the Upsaroka is open," said
Mah^ga; /* tell him that his gifts shall not fall
upon the ground; the lead shall be buried in
the hearts of his enemies."

Besha, having given to thu chief a few brief
explanations of the hour and the arrangements
fixed for the nip^ht-march, withdrew, and lefl
him to communicate them to his followers.

We must now letum tu Reginald Brandon,
"v^hom we left engaged in the disagreeable ana
perilous task of pursuing an unseen enemy
down the slope of a steep hill in the dark. His
was not, however, a foot or a heart likely to
fail him in such an emeigeney, and, reckless
«like of obstacles or of the difficulties in his
path, he continued his rapid descent, and soon
found himself among the glades and bushes
whence the firing had aroused his attention.
Advancing with his drawn' cutlass still in his
hand, he stumbled over something, which he
found to be the prostrate form of a man, and in
whom he recognised, by his dress, one of his
own party. Finding that he could extract from
him nothing but broken and muttered sentences
about " the devil" and " the darkness," he hast-
ened on until he reached a spot where he heard
several voices in earnest conversation ; these
he found to be War-Eagle, Wingenund, and
Baptlste : and he soon gathered from the latter
all that ne had to tell, which was, that having
suddenly heard the crack of a rifle in the camp,
and then a man rushing through the bushes m
descending the hill, he had thrown himself in
the way of the stranger, who, after neariy blind-
ing him by the discharge of a pistol in his face.
had darted past him into the thicket below. " I
fired after him," continued the honest Guide,
" both pistol and rifle, but I scarcely think I hit
him, for, on reaching the edge of the timber. I
could just distinguish a horseman crossing tne
prairie at full speed to the Grow camp; 'tis a
Dad business, but I fear there is worse yet be-
hind."

" How mean youl" inouired Reginald.

"Why, I fear some foul play in our own
camp ; toe fellow who shot the pistol at me was
one of our party."

" Impossible !" said Reginald ; " I will not be-
lieve it."

*' Neither would I, if I could help it," replied
the Guide ; « but dark as it was, I could plainly
see the fur-cap and elk-shirt upon him ; whoev-
er it was, he joined Mahega on the prairie, for
the Washashe shouted his cursed warwhoop
aloud to insult us."

Wingenund here whispered a few words to
War-Eaffle, who replied, "Right, my yoiing
brother, let us visit the pc^ts and the fires, we
shall soon see who is missing."

While the chief, with the aid of Pierre and
Baptiste, undertook this task, Reginald returned,
accompanied by Wingenund, to the spot where
he had stumbled pver the wounded man. The^
fimnd him seated in the same place^ hnt hu

lU

THE PRAIRIE-BIBD.

lienses had returned, and with the exception of
the severe bruises on the head, they were glad
to learn that«he was uninjured. He could give
no account of what had passed further than that
already given -by Baptiste. He had been pros-
trated and stunned by a heavy blow from some
one descending the hill with great rapiditv ; he
also stated his impression that he had distin-
guished the dress of a white hunter.

The result of the investigation may of course
be anticipated; the unfortunate owner of the
wolf-skin cap was suspected of having plotted
with Mah^ga, and (after aiding him in an at-
tempt to murder Reginald) of having gone off
with one of the best horses to the Crow camp,
s Such was the conjecture of some, and if there
were others who guessed more nearly at the
truth, their opinions were for the present re-
served ; it bemg, however, impossible to make
further inquiry until daylight, the different par-
ties retired to their respective quarters, and Re-
ginald again sought the tent to give to Prairie-

' bird an account of what had passed, and to as-
sure her of his safe return. At the first sound
of his voice she came forth, and listened with
breathless attention to his brief narration. The
watch-fire had been fed with fresh fuel, and its
light falling upon her countenance, enabled her
lover to see the intense anxiety which it express-
ed ; a handkerchief, hastily folded like a turban,
covered her head, and a dark Mexican mantle
was thrown over her^houlddrs ; her hand trem-
bled in his, and a slight shudder passed through
her frame as he mentioned the name of Ma-
h6ga.

" Nay, dearest," said Reginald, " I shall grieve
indeed, if the name of that hateful savage hath
power so to move and disturb your peace. Fear
nim not: believe me, we shall yet defeat all
his attempts, whether of hidden fraud or open
force."

- " There is no room, dear Reginald, for thoughts
of fear for the future in my heart, 'tis already
full, too full, of gratitude for the past; you are
again by my side, safe and unhurt, x et, me-
thinks, I am sadly changed of late ! A short
time since, the report oi the rifle, ihe arrow's
hissing path, brought no terror to my ear, and
now I tremble when I hear them I Will you
•not regret having chosen a coward for your
bride r

" Perhaps I may," said Reginald, " when the
thirsty summer-grass reerets being moistened
by the dew of heaven ; when the watchful moth-
er regrets that she has borne the infant by whose

^cradle she is seated; when the miser regrets
having discovered an unsuspected treasure ; and
the weary traveller regrets having found a fresh
spring amid the burning sands of the desert ;
then may I perhaps regret having chosen Prai-
rie-bird to be to my thirsting heart its summer-
dew, its firstling, its tl^asnre, its. fountain of ex-
hanstless joy and love !"

Although it was not the first time that she had
received the assurance of his affection, her ear
drank it in with delight ; the repetitions of Love
have. for his votaries perpetual freshness and
variety.

'<How lilTtr^irBet tofimd lovers* tongues by sight !f

So says one of the fairest creations of the
Great interpreter of human passion ; yet it is
only to each other that these voices do so sweet-
ly «>und ; to others less interested, their par-
lance is apt to seem doll and monotonoas.

Neither would a dinner of honey or Gaara je^
Iv alone be more nauseous and disappointing tc
the appetite of a hungry man than a Tolome
filled with love-letters, or love-speeches, to one
in search of literary food. Duly impressed with
this truth, we will spare any further detail of
the conversation that passed between Regi-
nald and his betrothed, and will content our-
selves with relating that, ailer more than one
" Good-night !" such as only lovers know, Prai-
rie-bird retired into her tent; with her thoughts
so absorbed in one object that she was scarcely
conscious of the a^ectionate attentions of her
faithful Lita, or of the watchful care of young
Wingenund, who took his accustomed station
at the entrance to the outer division, of his sis-
ter's canvass dwelling.

An hour before the da^wn the wakeful youth
arose and looked abroad ; the pale and expiring
fires of the opposite camp were still distinctly
visible ; but his practised ear missed the usual
sounds of Indian life— the hum of men, the cries
of children, and the barking of curs. Having
learned the use of Reginald's spy-glass, he took
it down from the peg on which it was suspend-
ed, and examined the opposite hill. As the
light of day gradually advanced, and objects be-
came more easily distinguishable, his suspiolons
became confirmed, and he resolved no longer to
delay communicating them to War-Eagle. He
found the chief seated at the door of his lodge,
in an attitude which he at first mistook tor
slumber, but it proved to be one of deep medita-
tion ; for, on the youth's approach he looked up,
and said, in the gentle tone in which he always
addressed his beloved brother,

" Wingenund is a-foot before the sun ; have
his ears or ey^s been open during the night 1" y

" They have," said the youth, gravely; " and
the words that he brings to his brother are not
good."

" The Wolf-cap hunter is gone to the XTpsa
roka camp ; that is bad news ; is there any
worse 1"

" Wingenund knows nothing of the Wolf-cap
hunter ; but the XTpsaroka camp is like the vil.
lage of the Lenap6 W the prairies of the east ;
there remains in it neither man, nor woman,
nor child!"

War-Eagle sprang upon his feet, and hastily
desiring Wingenund to summon Reginald, Bap-
tiste, and Pierre to council, he descended the
hill to the spot where his horses were fastened,
and throwing himself upon the back of the
s widest, he galloped at full speed towards the
opposite camp. As he approached it, he began
to suspect that its apparent desertion might be
only a manoeuvre to draw his party into an am*
bush, wherefore he wheeled his horse and made
a circuit round the base of the hill, at such a
distance as to be secure from the arrow or ball
of any marksman hidltai among the bushes.
As he gained a sng^ wMsce the expanse of prai-
rie was open to IfllView towards the south-west,
he saw a body of horsemen retreating rapidly in
that direction ; they were already several milea
from the camp, and he rightly conjectured them
to be the rear-guard of the retiring enemy.

The main-body had marched early in th«
night, and only a score of the best mounted had
been left to walk up and down by the fires^ te
talk aloud, and thus to prevent any suspicion
of their movements from entering the Delaware
canu).

yixtd and disappointed, the chief retahied to

¥HE PRAIRIE-BIRO.

W

\

Us party, which he found in confusion and dis^
diay, from their having just discovered the body
af the anfortunate Wou-cap hunter, one of his
x>mpanions having visited the valley before
nemioned, in search of the missing horse and
arjette 1

The mystexy was now cleared np, and the
TQth flashed upon them that Mah6ga, dressed
Ji the clothes of their slain comrade, had ac-
nally come nvithin their posts, and, after a de-
liberate attempt to shoot Reginald, had singed
the beard of Baptiste, knocked down another of
their party, stolen one of their best horses, and
escaped in triumph to his camp 1

It may well be imagined how such a compli-
cation of injury and insult aggravated the hatred
which they already entertained towards the
Osage. Yet were there many among the rough
and hardy men present, who could not prevent
&elittg a secret admiration of his daring and
succesafol exploit.

CHAPTER XLI.

^ IKflBffeniHid deriaet a PUm for the Libent^on of his Friends,
ana seeks to obtain by Means equally unusual and effect-
ifn the Co-operation of the one*^eyed Horse-dealer.—A
further Marcn into the Mountains. — Wingenund pays a
Visit to his FHends, and the I^ttter make acquaintance
with a strange Character.

It was about a week after the events related
in the preceding chapter, that, in a deep roman-
tic glen, apparently locked in by impassable
mountains, there sate a hunter busily engaged
in changing the flint of his rifle, it having just
missed fire, and thereby lost him a fine chance
of killing a bighorn, or mountain sheep ; his
countenance expressed little of the disappoint-
ment which would have been felt by a younger
man on such an occasion, and its harsh, coarse
features would have led any observer to believe
that their possessor was habituated to occupa-
tions less generous and harmless than those of
the chase.

As he fixed a fresh flint into the lock of his
rifle, he hummed, or rather grunted, in a low
lon^ a kind of chaunt, which was a mixture of
half a score difi*erent tunes, and as many various
dialects, but from the careless deliberation with
whieh he went on with his work, it was easy to
perpeive that his mind was otherwise occupied.

Whatever might have been his reflections, they
were suddenly interrupted by a hand laid upon
his shoulder, which made him start as if he had
been stung by a serpent. Springing to his feet,
and instinctively dropping the muzzle of his rifle
to the breast of his unexpected visitor, he ex-
claimed, aAer a momenta^ pause, " Does Win-
genund come as a friy^or an enemy T'

" lieither," replie^Bhe youth, scornfully.
"Wingenund has nlBi^khip for a forked
tongue; and if he had coml^an enemy, Besha
would not now have been alive to ask the ques-
tion; 'twas as easy to shoot him as to touch his
shoulder."

" For what then is he come 1" inquired the
Horse-dealer, who, although somewhat a)|ashed
at this reproof, was not disposed to endure the
lone of superiority assumed towards him by the
fouTifr Delaware.

" He is come to spe^k to Bee ha, and then to
return ; this is not a f^p-^a tr ^hi( t rwxy words
and time,"

" Indeed it is not, for Wingenund knows that
his enemies are within hearing of a rifle shot." ,
" There may be other rifles nearer than Besha
thinks," replied the youth drily. <* Wingenund
is not a bird ; wherever he goes friends can fol-
low him."

The horse^ealer cast an uneasy glanca
around, and muttered half aloud, " If Winge*
nund is not a bird, I know not how he came to
this place unseen by the Upsaroka scouts, who
are abroad in every quarter 1"

To this Wingenund deigned no reply, but en-
tered at once upon the business upon which he
had come. As he explained his proposal the
sinsfle eye of his auditor seemed to dilate with
unieigned astonishment, and at its conclusion he
shook his head, saying, " It cannot be 1 the mad
spirit has entered my young brother's head.
Besha would do much to serve his friends, but
this would hold a knife to the cord of his own
life!"

** The knife is there already," said the youth, ,
sternly; *' Besha has told lies to Netls and to ^
War-Kagle, and unless he makes good his first
words, their knife or bullet shall find him on the
mountain or in the wood, or in the midst of the
Upsaroka camp."

For an instant Besha was tempted to rush upon
the bold speaker and trust the issue to his suoe-
rior strength, but the quiet eye of the young Pela-
ware was fixed upon him with an expression so
fearless and resolved, that he involuntarily quail-
ed before it, and as he was endeavouring tq
frame some further excuse, the youth continued
in a tone of voice less stem, " Let Besha's ears
be open, it is not yet too late ; if he chooses to
be friends with Netis, Wingenund can tell him
some news that will be good for the person
whom he loves best."

"And who may that be 1" said the horse-deal-
er, doubtless surprised at the youth's pretending
to a knowledge of his afiections.

" Himself," was the brief reply.

The horse-dealer's eye twinkled with a comic
expression, and a broad grin sat upon his coun-
tenance. " Supposing that my young brother's
words are true, what is the good news that he
has to tell 1"

" If the whHe prisoners are given back unhurt
to their friends, tne lodge of Besha shall be more
full of gifts than any lodge on the banks of the
great southern river ;* if not, the mountain wolves
shall gnaw his bones before the change of an-
other moon: let him choose for himself."

"My brother's words are big," replied the j

horse-dealer, striving to overcome the eflfect pro- ^ '
duced upon him by the threat of the Delaware *-»
youth. " The tongues of women are very brave ;
if the Washashe tell the truth, not many sum-
mers have passed since the Lenap6 were a wtjm-
an-people.'*

The blood of the young chief boiled within
him at this insulting allusion to an era in the
history of Ym tribe which has already been ex-

Elained to Ke reader, and had he followed his
rst fierce impulse he would have instantly
avenged the afiront in the blood of the speaker,
but he never lost sight of the object for wnich he
had so long sought an interview with the horse-
dealer, wherefore he controlled hi^ risirg pas- *g
sion, and replied, " Wingenund comes with this *

message from those who not many days ago
drove the Washashe and the Upsaroka from

* Tha ArkuMS

m

THn PRAIRI£*BiRI>.

Ihfiir strong camp: B^ssha may jud^ whether
they are women or warriors."

The horse-dealer felt, if he did not own, the
jostice of the reproof; he knew also that the
greater portion of the coveted goods were in {he
possession of War-Eagle*s party, and he was
willing enough to conciliate them, provided "he
could ensure a safe retreat from the anger of the
Crows, in the event of his intrigue being discov-
ered by them.

Moved by these considerations, he said, in an
undecided tone, **My youh^ brother must not
ibrget that the edge of the knife is on the cord of
ius life ; if Besha agrees to his proposal, and the
Crows discover him, he will be torn in pieces
like a wounded elk among wolves."

" The life of Wineenund is like the breath of
the mountain breeze,'' answered the youth; f'itis
in the hands of the Great Spivit, to move and
send it whither he pleases. i<et Besha taste this
black water," he added, drawing from his belt a
small bottle, " it is very wonderful." .

The horse-dealer took the phial, which con-
tained a strong, and not very palatable mixture,
which had been borrowed by Wingenund from
his sister's chest of medicine; but he declined
tasting it, shaking his head in a manner that
gave the youth to understand that he suspected
something of a hurtful or poisonous nature.

" Let not Besha be afraid," said the youth,
scornfully ; " the tomahawk and the rifle are the
death- weapons of the Lenap^, they war not with
bad-waters !" and as he spoke he drank a portion
of the dark and distasteful liquid.

It wduld now have been held, according to In-
(tian custom, an act of unpardonable cowardice
in Besha had he any longer hesitated to taste
the pledge, and whatever doubts or scruples he
might in secret have entertained, he concealed
them, and drank off the remaining contents of
the phial.

As soon as he had swallowed them, the youth,
pointing up to the sky, said, with much solemni-
ty, " Now Wingenund and Besha are before the
Great Spirit, and. they roust beware what they
do. This dark-water was given into their hands
by the Medicine of the white tent ; it is made up
by Prairie-bird from a thousand unknown herbs;
it is harmless to the good,i)Ut it is yoison to the
forked tongue 1 Has Besha ever heard of the siclfc>
ness which makes the skin like a honey-comb';
which spares neither woman, warrior, nor child ;
and in the course of half a moon turns a power-
ful tribe into a feeble and exhausted bgnd ?"
; ** He has heard of it," replied the horse-dealer,
Ambling from head to foot at this allusion 40
ihatfeU disease^* which had already begun its
fearful ravages among the Indian nations, and
has since fulfilled to the very letter the descrip-
tion given of it by the Delaware youth. Its ori-
gin and causes were unknown, its cure beyond
their skill: it is not therefore to be wondered at
if they looked upon it with a mysterious dread.

"Yes," continued Wingenund, "iLtruth is on
the lips and in the heart of Besha, thVmedicine-
water will be good- for him and make him strong.
If he thinks of falsehood, and lies spring up in
his heart, but he overcomes the bad spirit witnin,
and treads it under his foot, then will the medi-
cine-water give him pain for a short time, but he
will recover and be stronger than before; and if
hi? Mps and heart continue full of deceit, diseases
and sores shall come so thicK upon his skin that

• Small-pnc

he shal^die among these rockiL the htmgtywotf
and the turkey-buzzard shall refuse to come near
the polluted carcase." ,

Such, or nearly suck was the warning threat
which the youth held forth in the bold and fig-
urative language of his tribe; «nd although Be-
sha could not with justice be called a cow jrd,
and was superior to many of the superstitions of
the Indian nations, still he had heard such well-
authenticated accounts of the miraculous power
of the Great Medicine of the tent, that the words
of Wingenund produced all, and more than all,
the efifect he had anticipated.

" It shall be done," said Besha, in a subdued
tone ; " let Wingenund tell Olitipa that the lips
and the heart oi her friend will he true, and let
him desire her to speak to the Great Spirit, that
the medicine-water may not hurt him. Besha
will be true; if the Crows discover and kUl
Wingenund, the hands of Besha shall be cl<tar
of his blood."

" Let the words of Wingenund remain in B«-
sha's ears ; let his tongue and his path be straight,
and the hearts and hands of the Lenap^ will be
open to him. At two hours after nightfall*
wingenund will be here again."

So saying, the youth turned, and darting
through some low bushes, clambered up the
steep and rocky bed of a mountain-torrent with
the activity of a mountain-cat

Besha followed with his eyes the light form Oa
the young Delaware, until it disappeared behind
a tall cliff that projected so far across the narrow
goirge as completely to hide its existence from
the observation of anyone traversing the valley,
while its rugged and precipitous front might have
deterred the boldest nunter from attempting the
passage. The horse-dealer then shouldered his
rifle, and returned slowly to the Crow camp,
distant about a mile, revolving as he went along
various schemes for ensuring the gratitude ol
the Delawares, without forfeiting the friendship
of those with whom he was now allied.

Wingenund had rightly estimated the probable
nature and quality oi his reflections, and sundry
sharp twitches which he felt in his stomach
served to remind him of the dangerous liquid
which it contained. Warned by these senaar-
tions, he made up his mind to obey the Great
Medicine of the tent, and for the present, at least,
to be faithful to the promise made to Wingenund.

The Delaware youth pursued his way up the
rough and craggy gorge until he reached a cave
that he had noticed on bis descent as likely to
afford shelter and a secure retreat. Here he
stopped ; and ensconcing himself in a dark re-
cess, whence he could, without being himself
discovered, see any one passing before the aper*
ture, he threw himself on the ground, and draw-
ing from his belt a few slices of dried bison-
meat, he made his frugal meal, and quenched
his thirst from a streamL^bat trickled down the
face of the rock bely|^lJ^P While resting him-
self, he indulged i^Vpe^nd reveries suited' t^'
his enthusiastic nalSre; he was new enga^eo

* It hat before been inentioned\tliat the division a^d ao
tfttion of time rary extremely in the Indian tribe'. ; thoa*
who have had much commerce with the Whitoa have coin
ed wordj^anawering to what we denom'mate ^,mjn ; but th»
tribes of the Far-western prairies usui^v express the suo^
cessJve periods of the nig^ht by resting t^.e cheek upon tht.
hand in a recambent posture, and thep^ K iding up the fore-
finger and thumb in the form of a er.«cont, they shew, by
the number of motioos which the) mt4» in po*ntinc to the
sky, the number of hours or war> es afte* uighifall wnicb
they wish to indicate.

r

THE PRAIRIfi-BIJlD.

m

Ih •& estarorisa saoh as ha had oflen heard re-
corded in t£e soags of the Lenap^ warxiors ; he
was aboat to trust himself alone in the midst of
E hostile camp, and to risk his life for the liber-
atioa of his early benefactor and' the friend of
bis adopted brother; he felt the spirit of his ihp
thers stir witiiin his breast.

" If I escape/' said he to himself, " they shall
escape with me ; and if I die, I will not die alone,
and the name of Win^enond shall not be for-
gotten among the warriors of his tribe.*'

In these and similar meditations he beguiled
the hours until darkness overspread the earth,
and the time of the appointed rendezvous drew
nigh.; thea, once more emerging from the cave,
he picked his way cautiouslv among the rocks,
and at length found himself at the spot where
he had parted from Besha. Having purposely
concealed his rifle in the cave, he was now arm-
ed only with a knife and a small pistol, which
kt carried in hjs belt

The night was cold and boisterous; dark
clouds hong around the mountain-peaks, and
chased each other in rapid succession over the
disc of tiie moon, while a fitful gust of wind
swept down the rocky glens, whistling as they
passed among the branches of the scathed pines
trhich weie thinly scattered in that wild and
desolate region.

He had' not waited long when he heard the
sound of approaching footsteps, and straininj^
his keen sight to its utmost power, he recogni-
sed Besha, who came not alone, but accompa-
aied by another man..

Although this was an addition to the coropa-
iy that he did not expect, the youth came fear-
esfily forward, his quick apprehension suggest-
Ag to him that if treachery had been intended
iie horse^ealer's companion would have been
concealed. After exchanging a sign of recog-
lition, Wingenund- led the way to a deep recess
which he had noted in a rock at no great dis-
tance, where they collected and kindled a few
sticks of withered juniper and sage, which sup-
plied them with warmth and' light without ren-
ting the place o£ their colloquy visible from
the valley below.

By the light of the fire Wingenund. observed
with suiprise that the horse-dealer's companion,
a lad of nearly his own size and stature, had only
one eye, the cavity of the other being covered
with a patch of cloth ; his complexion was of a
bae so swarthy, that it evidently contained an
admixture of the negro race and his hair,
though not woolly, was coarse long, and mat-
ted, di&fing entirely in its texture from that of
the tribes of purely Indian blood. He was
wrapped in a tattered blanket, and stood ap>art,
IiKe one conscious of his inferiority of station.
To account for his appearance, without enter-
ing at length into UJa^ explanations given b^
(he horse-dealer to Mj^penund, it will be suffi-
cient to state that theVner Md proposed to eur
ter the Crowcamp in a femiR dress, and to find
an opportunity, as an inmate of his lodge, for
communicating with Paul Miiller and £thelston.

As soon as Besh^ iMice made up his mind to
forward the scheme, he resolved to do so with as
ti'jtie risk of discovery as possible. Happening
tc have in his lodge a slave, a captive taken in a
horse-stealing skirmish among the Gomanches,
vhu was nearly the same age as Wingenund,
he thought that the youth uiight pen^onate him
more easily than he could imitate the gait and
appearance of a woman.

Many were the iokes amoitf the Crows aboul
the one-eyed Besna, and his one-eyed slave.
The latter had ]ost his eye bv the point of an ar-
row, in the same skirmish which tnrew him into
Besha's power; and being a cunning and dex"
terous lad, he soon grew into favour with his
new master, who frequently employed him as a
spy, and found him extremely useful in stealing
marking, and disguising horses for him.

Wingenund saw at once the driH of Besha's
project, and they lost no time in carrying it intd
effect. The exchange of dress was made in a
few seconds, and the horse-dealer then drew from
his pouch a small bladder containing ointment,
with which he stained the youth's hands ana
face, fastening at the same time a patch over his
left eye. Wingenund then desired Besha to walk
up and down, and speak with the lad, that be
might carefully note his movements, and the in-
tonation of his voice. This observation he con-
tinued for some time, until he thought himself
tolerably perfect in his lesson. There remained,
however, one point on which he still felt himself
very insecure a^inst. detection. Ob his ex-
plaining this to Besha, the latter' grinned, and
drawing from under his vest a head-dress of
false hair, ragged and matted as that of his slave,
he placed it on 4he head of Wingenund. The
youth felt bis disguise was now complete; and
retaining his own knife and small pistol in his
belt, threw the tattered blanket over his shoulder,
and prepared t4> accompany Besha to his lodge.

The latter having instructed the slave to keep
himself concealed amons the rocks for a few
days, and having provided him with a smal. bag
of provisions, returned slowly towards the Crow
camp, giving to his young companion by the
way such hints as he deemed necessary for his
safely. Fortunately for Wingenund, the lad
whom he personated was known by the Crows
to be ignorant of their language, so there was no
great risk of his being betrayed by his speech.

As they picked their way slowly along the base
of the rugged hills which frowned over the vaU
ley, they came to a spot where a few stunteu
pines threw a darker shadow across their path.
To one of these was attached a horse, which
Wingenund unfastened by desire of Besha, and
led it after him bgr the halter.

As they reached the outposts of the camp Be-
sha was addressed by several of the sentries, to
whom, he explained his night expedition, by in-*
forming them that he had been with his slave to
recover a horse that ha^ strayed. They were
perfectly satisfied with this explanation, it being
of very frequent occurrence that both master and
man returned by day and by night with horses
that they had ** recovered ;" the latter word being
in the Crow dialect almost, if not quite, synony-
mous with " stolen."

The lodge of Besha was pitched next to that
of Wbite-Bulf, in which Ethelston and Paul
Miiller were confined. His entrance caused no
disturbance among its slumbering inmates; and
Wingenund, fore-armed with the requisite local
information, tied up the horse beside its fellows j.
and nestling himself into his allotted corner, laid
himself down to rest as composedly as if he had
been in his usual quarters in tUe outer division
of his sister's tent.

While Wingenund was thus carrying his proj-
ect into effect, his friends fnlfiUed the intention
they had formed of marching further into the
mountains.

"Dear Prairla-bixdl" said Reginald, as thej

188

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

walked together in front of her tent, " I fear you
must be much fatigued by this last march. I
never could have believed that a horse, bearing
a female rider, could have crossed that rocky
pass by which we entered this valley."

" The horse deserves more praise than the ri-
der, Reginald ; and Nekimi seemed quite aware
that his master attached a higher price to his
burthen than it was worth, for he put his feet so
safely and gently down, that I need not have
feared his slipping, even had he not been led by
one yet mure gentle and careful than himself

" It was, however, a severe trial, Prairie-bird,"
replied her lover; " for you remember thatLita's
mule stumbled, and nearly fell with her over that
fearful precipice 1 but Nekimi is unmatched for
speed and sureness of foot, and is of so generous
and affectionate a nature that I love him more
than I ever thought I could have loved a quad-
ruped. When we return to Moosbanne, he shall
be repaid for all his faithful service ; warm shall
be h& stable, soft his litter, and bis beloved mis-
tress shall sometimes give him com with her
own fair band, in remembrance of these days of
hardships!"

At tne mention of his home, the cheek of
Prairie-bird coloured with an emotion which
that subject never failed to excite. Reginald ob-
served it, and said to her, in a half-jesting tone,
** Confess now, dearest, have you not a longing
^sire to see that home of which I have so oilen
tjpoken to you V* ' *

"It appears to me so like a dream, that I
scarcely dare let my thoughts dwell upon it!
But your sister, of whom Wingenund told me
so much, I hope she will love me 1"

Reginald bent his dark eyes upon her counte-
nance with an expression that said, as plainly as
words could speak it, " How could any one see
tbee, and fail to love thee !" Then turning the
conversation to Wingenund, he replied, ** Two
days have now elapsed since your young brother
went upon his dangerous expedition \ I begin to
feel most anxious for his saiety."

" With grief I saw him go, for even if he suc-
ceeds in seeing and speaking with the Black Fa-
ther, I cannot tell what advantage will come
fifom it"

" They may perhaps devise some scheme for
escape, and will at all events be comforted by
the assurance that their friends are near and
watchful. Three several times on the march
hither had we made our plans for attacking the
camp, and rescuing them, but the hateful Mah^

fa was always on his guard, and had posted
imself in such a manner that we could not ap-
proach without incurring severe loss. War-Ea-
fle has himself owned that the Osage, has con-
ucted this retreat with wonderfdl skill. What
a pity that so great a villain should possess such
high qualities !"

I* If he were not m the camp of the Crows,"
said Prairie-bird, " my beloved father, and your
friend would4iave been set free long ago ; cruel-
ty and revenge are his pleasures, and his hand is
ever ready to shed blbod."

" He will doubtless do all in his power to pre-
sent their liberation; and if his malignant eye
should detect the presence of Wingenund, he
would represent the brave youth as a spy, and
urge the Crows to destroy him.*'

" I trust much to Wingenund*s skill, but more,
oh! how much more, to the protection of Him,
at whose word the strongest oars and bolts are
oroken, and the fetters of iron fall from the limbs
of the captive!"

''What a strength and support must it be to
you, dearest Prairie-bird, thus habitually to loolr
up to heaven amid all the trials and troubles of
earth!"

*' How would it be possible to do otherwise?"
she repHed, looking up in his face with an ex-
pression of innocent surprise. " Can any one
loNok upon the flowers of the prairie, the beauty
of the swiA antelope, the shade of the valleys,
the hills and snow-clad mountains, the sun, the
moon, and the thousand thousand worlds above)
and yet not worship Him who framed themi"

"I grant you, dearest," he replied, "that do
reasonable being could consider those thingsr
without experiencing the emotions that you de ^
scribe, yet many, ver}' many, will not consider
them ; still fewer are there who refer the thoughts;^
actions, and events of daily life to an ever-pres-
ent, overruling Providence."

" Surely they can never have read this book,*
she said, pointing to the volume which was her
constant companion ; ''or they must feel ever
grateful for past mercies, present benefits, and
the blessed promised of the future revealed in it I"

For a moment Reginald cast his eyes open the
ground, conscience reminding him of maiky oe^
casions on which he had been led by temptation
and carelessness to wander from those orainai^
ces and precepts of religion which he respected
and approved; at length he replied, "True, mj
beloved, but the human heart is a treacherous
guide, and often betrays into errors which reason
and revelation would alike condenm."

" It may be so among the cities and crowded
haunts of men, of which I know nothing beyoild
what I have read, and what the Bladi Father
has taught me; yet I cannot understand how a
loving heart can be, in such cases, a treacherous
guide. Is it not sweet to serve one whom, we
love on earth, to think of him, to bless him, to
follow where he points the way, to afford him
pleasure, to fulfil his wishes even before they are
expressed I If such feelings be sweet and natu-
ral towards one frail and imperfect as ourselves,
why should the heart refuse to entertain them to-
wards the one perfect Being, our ever^-present
Benefactor, the Fountain of Love?*

Again Reginald was silent, the impassioned el-
oquence of her eyes told him how her heart over-
flowed with feelings but faintly shadowed in her
simple language; and he desired rather to shan
than to shake her creed. Why shouM he tell her.
that in spite of all the incentives of hope and
gratitude, iu spite of all the arguments of reason
and the truths of revelation, the great majority
of the so-called Christian world pursued theif
daily course of business or amusement as if the -
present were the substance of life, and Eternity
a dream % Reginald felt his own heart softened|
purified, and exalted by communion with the
gentle beings at his side \J^ cares and troubles ol
life might perhaps .^ist^B at some future time
the currem of he^ot, mi her faith was built
upon a Rock that would not be shaken, and hia
spirit already sympathizing with hers, .experi-
enced a new and delightful sensation of happiness.

He might have indulged longer in this blissful
reverie, had not his ear caught the sound of an
approaching footstep; he turned quickly, and
recognising the light form of Wingenund, ex*
claimed, "See, Prairie-bird, our dear young
brother safely returned! Mav all your othei
hopeful anticipations be as happily realized ^
Speak, Wingenund ; let us iiear how you have
sped in your diflicnlt ami danjgerous mlssion.V'

r

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

16t

Instead of giving the ycath's narrative in his
own words, w^ wiU resume the thread of his sto-
ry where we left it, being thas enabled to relate
various particulars which his mbdestj induced
him to omit

At the first dawn of day he looked round the
horse-dealer's lodge, and made a survey of its in-
mates. In the centre lay Besha himself, and by
his side a squaw from one of the southern tribes,
who had been the companion of his rambles and
expeditions for many years. Beyond them there
slept, or seemed to sleep, a youth, whose appear-
ance indicated that he also belonged to a south-
em clime, and that some Mexican blood ran in
his veins ; his features were finely formed, his
complexion darker than that of a northern Indi-
an, and a short mustachio began to shade his
upper lip; his eves were small, but piercing, and
black as jet, and scarcely was the light sufficient
to render distinguishable the objects- in the lodge
ere his c^uick gaze fell upon Wingenund, with an
expression that convinced the latter that the plot
had been confided to Iiim. These were the only
inmates of the lodge, which was filled with van-
ous indications of its owner's success in trade,
packages and bales being piled therein to a coii-
siderable height.

Agreeabljr to the plan preconcerted by Besha,
his wife invited Bending- willow to come to her
in the course of the morning ; and, on her arri-
val, set before her some cakes of mMze, sweet-
ened with sugar, — ^a luxury equally new and
a^eeable to the Upsaroka bride. Further civil-
ities beyond those interchangeable by signs were
precluoed between them, by the circumstance of
their being each entirely ignorant of the other's
language; but the ofiering of a string of blue
beads ailer the cakes completed the triumph of
the hostess in the good graces of her guest.

Besha did not lose this favourable opportuni-
ty for calling the attention of the latter to the
subject of the prisoners, in whose behalf he ex-
pressed a hope that she would use her best ex-
ertions.

Bending-willow smiled, and said that she was
a woman, and had no power in the council of
the tribe.

The crafi:y horse-dealer saw at a glance how
the assertion was belied by the smile, and re-
plied,

** When "White-Bull speaks, the braves listen :
when Bending-willow speaks, does not White-
BuU listen 100 r

The Upsaroka beauty looked down and count-
ed the beads upon her new bracelet, with an ex-
pression of countenance which encouraged Besha
to proceed. " These white men are of no use in
the Upsaroka camp: they eat and drink, and kill
no game, ii they' are sent back to their own
people, the lodge of White-Bull will be full of
presents, and the women** will say, 'Look at
Bending-willow; she Stressed like the wife of
a great chief!" , ».

By these, and similar arguments, the Crow
bride was easily induced to connive at the plot
laid for the liberation of the prisoners. Being a
good-natured creature, and feeling that the kind-
ness of Prairie-bird to her had been ill-requited,
she was the more willing, to favour the white
people, and only held Besha to the promise that
in contriving their escape no injury should be
done to the person o^ property of any of her
tribe.

With the assistance of Bending-willow, Win-
genunn patina several opportunities of conver-

sing with Ethelston and the Black Father; bnt
the camp was so strictly guarded that they could
not devtse any plan that seemed to promise sue*
cess, whUe a iailure was sure to bring upon
them more rigid confinement, if not a severer
and more summary punishment. Wingenund
was authorised by Besha to comfort them with
the assurance that they had a true friend in
White-Bull's bride, and that they Were quite safe
from the malignant designs of Mah^ga. On the
other hand, the horse-detler positively refused,
under pi^sent circumstances, to incur the risk oi
aiding their escape while the position of the
camp was so unfavourable for it, and the Crow
sentries were kept so much on the alert by the
immediate vicinity of War-Eagle's party.

Under these circumstances, the youth had
slipped away by night to consult with his friends
whether the liberation of the prisoners should be
attempted by force, or whether it might not be
more advisable to throw the Crows off their
guard by discontinuing the pursuit, and leaving
it to the ingenuity of Wingenund to devise a plan
for their escape.

These two alternatives having been duly dis»
cussed in council, it was almost unanimously
agreed to adopt the latter: and Wingenund pre-
pared again to return to his perilous post, hav-
ing received from War-Eagle, Reginald, and
Prairie-bird the praises which his skill and en-
terprise had so weU deserved.

Ue did not forget to take with him a small
supply of beads and trinkets, which he conceal-
ed in his belt, and which were destined to se-
cure the continued favour of Bending-willow.

As soon as he was gone, War-Eagle propo-
sed that the party should quit their present sta-
tion in search of one where they might be more
likely to fall in with deer and bison, as meat
was becoming very scarce in the camp ; and a
scout, sent out on the preceding day, had return-
ed with a report that he had found, at the dis-
tance of half a day's march, a large and fertile
valley, watered by a fine stream, and abounding
in materials for fuel. This last consideration
was of itself highly important, for the Crows
had gathered every dry bush and stick from the
barren glen in which they were now encanoped ;
and the utmost exertions of the indefatigable
Perrot scarcely enabled him to provide a suf-
ficiency for cooking the necessary provisions;
while the coldness of the atmosphere, especially
at night, rendered the absence of fire a privation
more than ordinarily severe.

The counsel of War-Eagle was therefore
adopted without delay, it having been agreed
that two of the most experienced men, the one a
Delaware and the other a white hunter, should
hover around the Crow camp, and communi-
cate to the main body, from time to time, their
movements and proceedings.
' Having been supplied with an extra blanket
and a few pounds of dried meat and parched
com, these two hardy fellows saw their com-
rades depart without the least apparent concern,
and soon afterwards withdrew to a sheltered and
more elevated spot, whence they could, without
being perceived, command a distant view of the
Crow camp.

Following the steps of the scouts, War-Eagle
led his party to a part of the valley where a
huge rent or fissure m the side of the mountain
rendered the ascent practicable for the horses.
It was, however, a wild and rugged scene, and
a fitting entrance to me vast pile of mcimtainS|

m

THE PRAIBIE-BIRH.

that shelved their towering peaks far to the
westward.

Prairie-bird was moanted upon Nekimi, and
Reginald walked by her side, his hand ever
ready to aid and guide him among the huge
stones, which in some places obstructed the
path.

Never had velvet lawn, or flower-embroidered
vale, seemed to our herp half so smooth and
pleasant as did that rocky pass. At eveiv turn
some new feature of f^randeur arrested the at-
tention of Prairie-bird, who expressed her admi-
ration in language which was a strange mixture
of natural eloquence and poetry", and which
sounded to his ears more musical than ** Apol-
lo's lute." ^

What struck him as most remarkable was,
that, whether in speaking of the magnificent
scenery around, or of the more minute objects
which fell under her observation, her spirit was
so imbued with Scripture, that she constantly
clothed her ideas in its phraseology, without be-
ing conscious of so doing.

Thus;, when in crossing the valley they»pass-
ed by some ant-hills, and, in ascending the op-
posite height, saw here and there a mountain-
rabbit nibbling the short moss that overspread
the bed of rock, Reginald directed her attention
lo them, saying, "See, Prairie-bird, even in this
desolate wilderness these insect-millions have
built them a city, and the rabbit skips and feasts
as merrily as in more fertile regions."

** True, dear Reginald," she replied, " there-
fore did the wise man say in days of old, ' The
ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare
their meat in the summer : the conies are but a
feeble folk, yet make they their houses in the
rocks.* "

A little further onward, the pass was over-
hung by an enormous cliff, from the top of
which a bighorn looked down upon the party
below, the long beard of the mountain-goat
streaming in the wind. One of the hunters Ired
it it, but the harmless bullet glanced from the
face of the cliff, while amid the echoes repeated
and prolonged by the surrounding heights, the
bighorn sprang from rock to rock across the.
yawning chasms by which they were divided,
as lightly as the iorest squirrel leaps from a
b^anch of the spreading oak to that o( the neigh-
bouring elm.

Reginakl watched the animal's progress, and
ealled tne attention of Prairie-bird to the surpri-
sing swiilness and activity with which it held
on its perilous course.

When at length it disappeared benind the an-
gle of an abrupt precipice, she said, " Does it
not call to your mind the description given of
the wild-ass of the East, in the Book of Job,
* Who hath sent out the wild-ass free 1 or who
nath loosened the band of the wild-ass 1 whose
house I have made the wilderness, and the bar-
ren land his dwelling^ 1 He scometh thq multi-
tude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying
of the driver. The range of the mountains is
his pasture, and he searcheth afler every green
thing.' Tell me, Reginald," continued the
maiden, after a momentarv pause, "can the
creature here described be tne same dull patient
animal that I have often seen bearing the packs
•f the Mexicai/ traders V*

" The same, I believe, dearest, In its origin,

nd its place in natural history, but widely dif-

tf^" * «a its habits and powers, if we may credit

^ wt.r^^ives of trayellers, whether modem or

.ancient. I remember reading a moat qfnnted

description of this same anima in the accoutit
given by the eminent historian* of the expedi-
tion of the younger Cyrus, who relates that the
herds of them found near the banks of the £a-
phrates surpassed the swiftest horses in speed,
and were neither to be tamed nor approached
without the greatest difficulty; and in later
times they have been described as abounding in
the wildest regions of Persia and Tartary, where
their flesh is considered one of the greatest del
icacies at- the table of the hunter, and even at
that of the prince. In order to distinguish this
animal from its humble and degraded kindred
in the West, it has been dignified by the name
of the Onager."

The conversation was here interrupted by a
sudden halt in the line of march, and Reginald
heard the soand of numerous voices towaras the
front as of men speaking under surprise and ex-
citement. When he advancied, with Prairie-
bird at his side, they made way for him to pass
until he reaehed the front, where he found War*
Eagle holding by a leathern thong the most sin-
gular-looking creature that he had ever beheld.
It bore in some respects the semblance of a hvL-
man being, but the extreme lowness of its stat*
ure, the matted hair by which it was covered,
the length of the finger nails, and the smallness
of the deep-set eyes made it' almost a matter of
doabt whether it did not rather belong to the
monkey tribe.

This was, however, soon disi)elled by Pierre,
who recognised in the diminutive and terrifiea
creature^ one of the race known to mountain-
hunters under the name of Root-diggers. They
are the most abject and wretched of all the In«
dian tribes, living in caves and holes, and sup-
porting their miserable existence upon such an-
imals as they can ^catch, in toils of the simplest
kind, and by grubbing and dig;',ing for roots
such as no other human being could eat or di-
gest. The one now taken by the Dela wares
had been engaged in the latter occupation when
he first saw them approach, and hS fled imme-
diatelv towards the rocks. Had he been fol-
lowed by an eye less sure, and a foot less fleet
than ihat of War-Eagle, he might have escaped,
for, despite his uncouth appearance, he was nim-
ble as a mountain-cat, but the Delaware chief
overtook and secured him ; and in spite of all
the endeavours made to reassure him, the unfor-
tunate Root-digger now looked about him as if
he expected every moment to be his last. Beads,
trinkets, and shreds of bright-coloured cloth
were all held up to him in turn, but were left
unnoticed, and his deep twinkling eyes roved in-
cessantly from one to another of the bystanders
with an expression cf the most intense alarm.

" Are they always thus feartui ana intracta-
ble 1" inquired Reginald of the Canadian hunter.

" Not always," repliedjCierre j " but the Crows,
and Black-feet, and wmte men too, generally
treat them worse than dogs whenever they fmd
them; that is not often, for they always hide
among rocks and stones, and seldom come down
so low in the valleys. I never saw one in this
region before."

"Prairie-bird," said Reginald, in a whisp-jr to
the maiden, "speak to the poor creatuie a few
words of comfort. Were he shy, suspicious, and
wild as a wolf, that voice -would subdue and dis-
pel his apprehensions." *

' - -^

* XimnplmB

r

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

in

^'Tbe sweetness of the voice lies in the hear-
er's partial ear/' replied Prairie-bird, blushing
deeply; '*bat I will do your bidding to the best
of my power ; and if I mistake not the poor crea*
tare's symptoms, I think \ can find a means to
lelieve them."

So saying, and leaping lightly from her horse,
the maiden took from one of the packs a piece of
biQced maize-cake, and a slice of dried bison-meat.
Carrying these in her hand, she approached the
Root-digger, and motioning to the bystanders to
i^tire to some distance, she deliberately untied
the thong by which he had been fastened, and
placing the food before him, made signs that he
should eat. At first the uncouth being gazed
upon her as if he could or would not understand
her 'meaning; but she spoke to him in the soft
Delaware tongue, and eating a morsel of the
cake, repeated the signal that he should eat with
her. Whether overcome by the gentleness of
her manner, or by the cravings of hunger, the
savage no longer resisted/ but devoured with
ravenous haste the food which she had set be-
fore htm. Prairie-bird smiled at the success of
her attempt, which so ^ encouraged her, that
she again offered the several presents which he
had before rejected, and which he now accepted,
taming them over and over in his hand, and in-
specting them with childish curiositv.

Reginald looked on with gratified pride^ say-
ing within himself, " I knew that nothing could
resist the winning tones of that voice I

* Sinoe naug-ht to vtockish, hard, and full of nge,
But miuia for the ttme doth chaag« his natare ;*

and where is there music like the voice of Prai-
rie-birdr

CHAPTER XLII.

The Root-digger makes Friends with the Party.— An Ad-
venture with agrizzly fiear.— The Conduct of War-Eag^le.

No sooner had Prairie-bird gained the confi-
dence of the Root-digger, than War-Eagle, Regi-
nald, and the other chief hunters, approached him
with signs of amity and friendship; nevertheless,
he continued shy and suspicious, still refusing to
receive either food or present from any hand ex-
cepting that of the maiden. They were obliged,
therefore, to make her their interpreter, and to
endeavour, through her, to acquire the informa-
tion of which they were in want respecting the
scarcity or abundance of deer and bison in the
neighboQihood.

In the discharge of this office, Prairie-bird dis-'
covered so much natural quickness, and at the
same time so complete a knowledge of the In-
dian language of signs, that Reginald looked on
with the most intense interest while the maiden,
whose beaiAy was so strongly contrasted with
the hideous face and figui^ of the mountain dwarf,
maintained with him a conversation of some
length, in the course of which she learned that
there were few, if any bison in the neighbour-
hood, but that the argali, or mountain sheep, and
deer of several kinds, were to be found at no
great distance. She succeeded also, at length,
in so far disarming his suspicions, that be agreed
to act as guide to Baptiste and Reginald in pur-
suit of game, and to return with them to reap the
reward of his trouble in further presents from the
hand of Prairie-bird.

The sturdy back-woodsman did not seem to
place much confidence in the fidelity of his new

acquaintance, and bluntly observed lo Picrve,
" For sure, I never saw an uglier crittur, and his
eyes roll from side to side with an undertook that
I don't half like ; perhaps he'll lead us into some
ambush of Upsarokas. or other mountain In-
gians, rather than to a herd of deer."

" You need not be afraid, Baptiste," replied
his brother hunter, laughing; "these poor Root-
diggers are harmless and honest in their own
miserable way. They are said to belong to the
Shosbonies, or Snake-tribe, and are the oest of
all the Ingians hereabouts; not such fighting
devils as the Black-feet, nor such thieves as the
Crows, but friendly to the Whites. This poor
crittur has been digging for roots many a long
day with that sharpened flint, which you se^ in
his hand. After you have started on your hunt-
ing trip, make him a present of a good knife. I
have watched his pyes roving from belt to belt;
he would give his ears for one, and yet is too
frightened to ask for it."

" Thanks for the hint, Pierre," said his com«
panion, looking carefully to the priming of his
rifle ; " thanks for the hint. I win carry a spare
one with me on purpose ; and in case we should
fall in with a fat herd, do you, friend War-Ea-
gle, give us the company of one of your stoutest
men, that he may assist in bringing in enough
m^at for the party."

On hearing these words. Prairie-bird inquired
of the Root-digger, by signs, whether one of the
mules could not go over the hunting-ground.
The savage looked first at the animal, then at
the fair speaker, ahd then^ with a grin, gave a
most decided indication of a negative.

The preparations for the hunt were soon made.
Prairie-bird urged Reginald, in a low voice, not
to remain too long absent, a command which he
faithfully promised to obeyj and just as he was
about to set forth, he led her up to the chief, and
said, "War-Eagle will take care of his sister 1"

The Indian's proud heart was gratified by this
simple proof oi his friend's unbounded confi-
dence; he saw that no jealousy, no doubt of his
victory over self^ lurked in the breast of Regi-
nald, and he replied, "While War-Eagle has
life to protect her, Olitipa shall be safe as in the
lodge of Tamenund."

Reginald turned and followed Baptiste and the
Root-digger, who had already taken their way
up the valley, accompanied by the Delaware se-
lected to aid in carrying home the anticipated
booty.

Leaving them to toil up one rocky steep aftei
•another, wondering. at the enduring agility of
the Shoshonie dwar^ who seemed almost as ac-
tive and sure-footed as one of the mountain-goats
of which they were in search, we will return te
the valley where War-Eagle's camp was posted,
which formed, as we have before noticed, a
pleasing contrast to the savage scenery around.
The stream that flowed through its centre fresh
from the snowy bosom of the mountain, was
cool and clear as crystal, and the shade- of tht
trees which grew along its banks was delightful-
ly refreshing after the fatigues of a summei
march, even in a region the elevation of which
rendered the atmosphere extremely cold before
the rising and afler the setting of the sun. PmU
rie-bird felt an irresistible desire to stroll by the
banks of this stream, — a desire that was no soon-
er mentioned by Lita to War-Eagle than he at
once assented, assuring her that she might do so-
in safety, as his scouts were on the look-out both
above and below in the vallev, so that no enemy

1*72

THiii PRAIRIE-BIRD.

coi^ld approach unperceived. At the same time
he gave instructions in the camp that none of
the men should wander to that quarter, in order
that it might be left altogether undisturbed.

Shortly afterwards Prairie-bird set forth, ta-
king in her hand a moccasin, which she was or-
namenting with stained qdills for the foot of Re-
ginald, and accompanied by her faithful Lita,
who bore upon her head a bundle containing va-
rious articles belonging to her mistress and to
herself, on which she was about to exercise her
talents as a laundress.

They had pursued their respective avocations
for several >hours without interruption, when on
a sudden they heard the report of a rifle and the
voice of a man shouting, as if engaged in the
pursuit of game. This was an occurrence to
which both were so much accustomed, that they
p«»id at first little attention to it; but they felt
ttome alarm when they saw one of their party, a
white hunter, coming towards thein as if running
for his life. Before reaching the spot where
they were seated, he threw his rifle upon the
ground, and climbed into a tree \ immediately
afterwards a young male, not full grown, of the
species called the grizzly or rocky mountain
bear came up, limping as if wounded by thie rifle
so lately discharged, and missing the object that
he had been following, looked around him, howl-
ing .with mingled rage and pain. At length he
caught sight uf Prairie-bird and her companion :
and setting up a more loud and angry howl, trotted
towards them. Unfortunately, the spot to which
they had^ retired was a narrow strip of wooded
ground, projecting into a curve of the stream
above-mentioned, and they could not retreat to-
wards the camp without approaching yet nearer
to the wounded bear. There was no time for
reflection ; and in the sudden emererency. Prai-
rie-bird hesitated whether she should not adopt
the desperate alternative of throwing herself into
the water, in hopes that the stream might carry
her out of the reach of danger.

At this crisis the crack of a rifle was heard,
and the young bear fell, but again rose and strug-
gled forward, as if determined not to be disap-
pointed of its prey. Seeing the imminent dan-
ger of the woman, the hunter who had climbed
the tree dropped lightly to the ground, and catch-
ing up his rifle, attacked the half-exhausted an-
imal, which still retained sufficient strength to
render too near an approach extremely danger-
ous. War-Eagle, for he it was who had nred
the last opportune shot, now sprang forward from
the bushes, reloading his rifle as he came, in or- '
der to decide the issue of the conflict. When a
loud shriek from Lita reached his ear; and on
turning round he beheld the dam of the wound-
ed cub, a she-bear of enormous bulk, trotting
rapidly forward to the scene uf action : the hunt-
er was so much enga£:ed in dealing blow after
blow with the butt of nis rifle, that he had no-
ticed neither her approach nor the warning shout
of War-Eagle, when one stroke from her terrible
paw struck him bleeding and senseless to the
ground. For an instant she smelt and mOaned
over her dying oflspring; then, as if attracted by
the female dress, pursued hex way with redoub-
led speed and fnrv towards the spot where Lita
elung, with speechless terror, to the arm of her
mistress. The latter, although fully alive to the
toiminencv of the peril, lost not her composure
at this trying moment. Breathing a short*pray-
er to Heaven for support and protection, she fix-
iu ner eyes apon War-Eagle, as if cousdous

that the only human possibility of safety ho1»
lay in his courage and devotion.

Thea it was that the Indian chief evinced the
high and heroic properties of his character; for
although every second brought the infuriated
brute near and more near to her who had been
from youth his heart's dearest treasure, he coo-
tinuea, as he advanced, to load the rifle with a
hand as steady as if he had been about to prac-
tise at a target; and just as the ball was rammed
home, and the priming carefully placed in the ,
pan, he threw himself directly in front of the'
bear, so that it was only by first destroying him
that she could possibly approach the objects of
his care. It was a moment, and but a moment,
of dreadful suspense, for the bear swerved nei-
ther to the right nor to the left from her onward
path, and it was not until the muzzle of the rifle
was within three yards of her forehead that he
fired, taking his aim between her eyes; shaking
her head as if more angered than hurt, she raised
her huge form on her hind legs, ana advanced
to seize him, when he drew his pistol and dis*
charged it into her chest, springing at the same
time lightly back, almost to the spot to '^hicb
Prairie-^ird and her trembling companion seem-
ed rooted as if by a spell. Although both shots
had struck where they were aimed, the second ap-
peared to have taken no more effect than the first,
and the bear was again advancing to the attack,
when War-Eagle, catching up from the grt^und
a blanket which Lita had brought down to the
brook, held it extended before him until the mon-
ster sprung against it, and with her claws rent it
into shreds; not, however, before it had served
for an instant the purpose of a veil ; profiting by
that opportunity, the heroic Delaware dashed in
between her fore-paws and plunged his ong
knife into her breast. Short, though terrible,
was the struggle that ensued; the bear was ev-
ery moment growing weaker from the effect of
the shot- wounds, and from loss of blood, and al-
though she lacerated him dreadfully with hsr
claws and teeth, she was not able to make him
relax the determined grasp with which he clung
to her, plunging the fatal Knife ^gain and again
into, her body, until at length she fell exhausted
and expiring into a pool of her own blood, while
the triumphant war-cry of the Delaware rung
aloud through wood and vale.*

Alarmed by the shots, the yells of the dying

* To tome who have read the deacriptionB of bear-hunta
in Norway and Ruaria it may aj^pear neither wonderf^il nor
unusual that a single hunter should kiU a full-grown bear ;
but it must be borne in mind, that the bear of the north of
Europe bears about the same proportion to a grizzly bear
of the Rocky Mountains ( Urstu Horribilig) as a panther
doee to a Bengal tiger. The grizzly bear is not only th«
lamsat and moat ferocious of lus species, but his tenacity
of ufe is so remarkable that he frequently runs a consider
able distance and survives some hours after receiving ser
eral balls through the lungs, head, and heart. On this ao
count it is never safe for the most experienced marksman
to attack him alcme* unless there be some tne or place -of
safety at hand, fur the grizzlv bear cannot or will not climb
a tree ; and some idea of the animal's strength may b«
formed from the fact, attested b^ many crediUe witnesses,
that, after killing a bison, he will frequently drag the car-
case some distance to his lair. For descriptions and aneo>
dotes of the grizzly bear see Lewis and Clarke's Expedition
to the Rocky Moxmtains, and Major Long's ditto. A. feat
almost similar to that reHCorded in tiie text was nezibramd
some years ago bv an Iroquois, one of the last of hi* tribe,
and who, though grievooaly wounded, survived. The
author saw this Indian hero arrive at St. Louis in a canoeu
containing only himself and a boy, they having descended
the Missoun for mure than IfiOO miles m their frail bark,
and havinjr passed in their perilous voyage the villiCges of
Crows, Riccarees, Sioux, Black-feet, ana ether preds*w«
taoes.

J

THE PRAIRIE-DIRD.

m

near, and the shouts of thd chief, several of the
party now hastened towards the scene of action]
DQt before they could reach it Reginald Brandon,
who was just returning into caap with the re-
sults of a successful chace, caught the mingled
sounds, and outstripp^ all his «t)mpanions, ar-
rived, panting and brJeathless, on the spot. For
a moment he gazed on the strange and fearful
spectacle that met his view. The Delaware
chiei^ supporting his head upon his hand, still
reclined against the body of his grim antagonist,
his countenance calm in its expression, but both
his face and his whole form covered with recent
blood; at his feet lay Lita, perfectly uncon-
scious, and sprinkled with the same crimson
stream ; while at his side knelt Prairie-bird;
breathing over her heroic preserver the fervent
outpottriDgs of a grateful heart ! Another mo-
ment, and Reginald was beside her; he under-
stood instinctively all that had passed, and no
sooner had ascertained that his betrothed was
safe and xinhurt, than he turned with affectionate
and anxious solicitude to inquire into the condi-
tion of his fiiend. " Olitipa is safe and War-
Eagle is happy," replied the chief.

By this Ume the Delawares were all gathered
round their beloved leader, and in obedieuce to
an order which he gave in a low, voice, one of
them threw a blanket over his torn and blood-
stained dress, while another brought £rom the
stream a bowl of fresh water, which Prairie-
bijj^took from toe messenger, and held to his
paHhed lips ; then, wetting a clcth, she washed
the blood Irom his face, cooled his hot b]x>w, and
inquired, in a tone of sisterly affection, whether
he found himself recruited and refreshed.

'' The hand of Olitipa is mediciiie against pain,
and her voice brings comfort !" replied the chief,
gently. »* War-Eagle is quite happy."

Not so were those around him. His stern
warriors stood in sad unbroken silence ; the fea-
tures of the hardy guide worked with an emo-
tion that he strove in vain to conceal, for he
knew that th« Delaware would not have retain-
ed his sitting posture by the carcase of the bear,
had not his wounds been grievous and disabling;
Reginald Brandon held the hand of his friend,
unable to speak, save a few broken words of af-
fection and gratitude: while Prairie-bird ibund
at length relief for her oppressed heart in a flood
of tears. So much engrossed were they all by
their own feelings, that none seemed to notice
the anguish of Lita, who still lay in a pool of
blood at the ieet of him whom she had long and
secretly loved, giving no further signs of life than
a succession of smothered wailings and groans
that escaped from her unconscious lips.

The only countenance among those present that
retained its unmoved composure was that of the
Chief himself; and a bright ray shot from his
dark eye when one of the bravest of his warriors
laid down before him the inlaws of the huge bear
and her cub, which he had cut off, according to
custom, and now presented as a trophy of victory.
Baptiste and Pierre havin^onferred together
for a few minutes, the former whispered to Re-
ginald Brandon that Prairie-bird and Lita should
be withdrawn for a short time, while War-Ea-

Sie's wounds were examined, and his real cour
ition ascertained. Agreeably to this sugges-
tion, Reginald led his betrothed weeping from
the spot. Some of the Delawares and hunters
removed Lita; but not without difficulty, as she
still clung .#ith frantic energy to the torn g|r-
ments of the Chief; and, as they bore her away.

they DOW for the first time observed that she haC
received some severe scratches in her fruitless
endeavour to rescue him irom the struggles of
the dving bear.

When all had retired to some distance, and
there remained only by the Delaware the oldest
of his warriors, Pierre and Baptiste, the latter
^ntly lifted the blanket from the shoulders of
the wounded man, saying, " Let my brother al-
low his friends to see the hurts which he has
received, that they may endeavour to relieve or
heal them."

The Chief nodded his assent, and no sign, save
the dew that stood, upon his brow, betrayed the
agony and the sense of ezhanstion that he en-
dured. When the tattered remnants of his hunt-
ing dress were removed, a spectacle so terrible
was presented to the eyes of the Guide, that even
his iron nerves could not endure it, and, cover-
ing his face with his hands, he groaned aloud,
^hile the exclamation, "Dieu de la miseri-
corde !" broke from his lips in the language that
they had first been taught to speak.

The left arm of the Chief was bitten through
and through, and sp dreadfully mangled that no .
skill of surgery could restore it ; the shoulders '
and chest had been lacerated by the fore-paws,
and some of the wounds wide and gaping, as it
made by a saw or hatchet ; these, however, might
possibly ]^i6ld to time and careful treatment;
out the injuries that he had received in the lower
part of the body were such as to leave no hope
of recovery, for the bear, in her last dying strug
gles, had used the terrible claws of her hind-feet
with such fatal effect, that the lacerated entrails
of the sufferer protruded through the wound.

Baptiste saw at a glance that all was over, and
that any attempt at closing the wounds would
only cause additional and needless pain. War
Eagle watched his countenance, and reading
there a verdict that confirmea his own sensations,
gave him his hand and smiled. The rough woods-
man wrung it with ill-dissembled emotion, and
turned away his head that his Indian friend might
not see the moisture that gathered in his eye.

A brief consultation now ensued, during which
it was arranged that the carcases of the bears
should be carried awsiy, and the wounded chie*
gently moved to a soft grassy spot a few yards
distant, where his wounds might be so far dress-
ed and bandaged as to prevent further effusion
of blood. It was also agreed that the tent and
the lodges should be brought to the spot, so that
he might receive all the care and attention that
his desperate case admitted.

These arrangements having been made, Bap-
tiste walked slowly towards the place where the
rest of the party awaited in deep anxietv the re-
sult of bis report. As be drew near with heavy,
lingering steps, and his weather-beaten couate-
nance overspread with gloom, they saw toe well
the purport of his message, and none had cour-
age enough to be the first to bid him speak.
Prairie-bird clung to the arm of Reginald for
support; the Delawares leaned u^on their rifles
in silence ; and even the rough hunters of the
prairie wore an aspect of sadness that contrasted
strongly with their habitual bold and reckless
bearing.

Recovering his composure by a powerful ef-
fort, the Guide looked gravely around him as
soon as he reached the centre of a semicircle in
which they stood, and addressing himself first to
Reginald and the white men, said, " There is no
cure for the wounds of the Delaware; were tb«

n4

THK PRAIRIB-BIRD.

BlacK Father himself among us, his skill and
his medicine would be in yain." Then turning
to the Dela wares, he added in their own tongue,
** The sun of the Lenape Chief is setting. The
Great Spirit has sent for him, and he must obe^ :
let his warriors gather round iiim to smooth his
path through the dark valley."

Having thus spoken, the Quide hastened to
oarry into effect the arrangements above men-
tioned, and in a short time the little camp was
mc ved to the spot where the Delaware reclined
against the stump of a withered aider, over
which his followers had already thrown some
blankets and buffalo-robes to soilen his couch.
Hither was brought the tent of Prairie-bird,
which was so pitched that the outer compart-
ment might shelter the wounded chief, and might
afford to Reginald and Prairie-bird the means of
watching him constantly, and administering such
relief in his extremity, as was within their pow^r.

Lita's energies, both of mind and body, seem-
ed entirely paralyzed, she neither wept nor sob-
bed, but sate in a comer of the tent, whence she
gazed intentiv, yet with a vacant expression,
upon the su0erer.

iBEe alone of the whole party (naintained
throughout a dignified and unmoved compo-
sure ; nor could either the pangs he endured, nor
the certain prospect of a lingering death, draw
from him a word of complaint. He smiled
gratefully as Prairie-bird from time to time rais-
ed the refreshing cup of water to his lips, or
wiped away the drops which weakness and ag«
onv wrung from his forehead. Once, and once
only, did a look of gloom and discontent pass
over his countenance.

Reginald observing it, took his hand and in-
quired, " Is there a dark thought in my brother's
heart, let him speak it ?"

" There is," replied the chief, with stem en-
eigv, *« Mah6ga, the bloody-hand— the Washashe
woif— the slayer of my tribe, he lives, and War-
Eaele must go to the hunting-fields of tibe brave,
andf when his fathers say to him, ' Where is the
scalp of Mah^ V his tongue will be silent, and
his hands will be empty."

" His hands will not be cmptjr," replied Regi-
nald, breathing his own impassioned feelings In
the figurative language of his friend. ''His
hands wjll not be emp^ ; he can shew the scalps
of many enemies ; he may tell the ancient peo-
ple that he was the war-chief of their race, that
neither Wahashe nor Dahcotah ever saw his
back; and that, to save his sister's life, he gave
his own. Where is the warrior who would not
envy the fame of War-Eagle, and who would
not rejoice in the glory of such a death V

These words, and the tone of earnest feeling
in which thev were spoken, touched the rig^t
chord in the neart of the Chief; he pressed the
band of his friend, and a smile of tnumph shot
across his features like a sunbeam breaking
through the thick darkness of a thunder-cloud.

CHAPTER XLIII.

MaMga is fbnnd in ttraoge eomptny, and Wtefenuiid
defera, on aceoont of more important ooneona, his plan
fcK the liberaflon of hit frienda^— A eotuwU, a eombaS,
and a ildnnlsb, In which laat, the Crowa receirs as-
riitanoe from a quarter whence Uiey least expected it

Wb left Wingenund on hia way to the Crow
cam?, levcaviBg aa he went vanoua sdiemea fear

the deliverance of his friends. However ahglit
was the faith which he was disposed to place
in the honesty of Besh^ he confidently believed
that the hoi^e- dealer's self-interest would keep
him true, at least for the time, to the party
whence the greater rewards and presents might
be expected. He knew also that Bending- wil-
low was kindly disposed towards the prtsonerv,
and would do all that was in her power towards
engaging her impatient and hot-beaded husband
to favour their release. Nevertheless the game
to be played was a difficult one, especially as
the consequence of any unsuccessful attempt
might prove fatal to them as well as to-himsetf*.

So intent was the youth upon these medita-
tions, that be forgot the distance and the diffi-
culties of his circuitous route, his light elastic
step bearing him over hiQ and vale with a apecvl
of which he waa scarce]^ consciooa, and long
befbre the sun went down he found himaelf at
the farther extremity of the moantain paaa,
whidi has kieen befbre mentioned as leading into
the valley where the Crowa were encamped,
from a quarter exactly opposite to that wheie
his own friends were stationed.

As he was about to step acroes a small rivu-
let that trickled from the rocks above, lending a
greener freshnesa to the narrow strip of grass
through which it flowed, his attehtion was ar-
rested by a recent footmark upon its margin.
Starting with surprise, he stooped to 1. 1 in^i it
more carefully, it was plain and distinct, soThat
a less sagacious eye than his might have traced
its form and dimensions. A single look satisfied
bim« and as he rose from his scrutiny, the name
of Mah^ga escaped from his lips.

Without a- moment's hesitation, he resolved
to follow the trail of the Osage and observe his
movements, conjecturing that these probably
boded no good to the Delaware party, although
he felt at some iCsa to imagine what object
could lead him to a quarter almost immediately
opposite to that where they were encamped.

The task which Wingenund had now under-
taken was not an easy one, for the ground was
hard and barren, and theshort grass partly dried
by the mountain winds and partly burnt by the
summer sun, scarcely received any impression
from the pressure of a foot, and the yoolh was
compelled to pause so freqnently in onier to ex-
amine the scarcely perceptible marks of the
trail, that his proffress was far from being bo
rapid as he could nave wished. Nevertheless
he toiled perse veringly forward, his hopes being
every now and then refy*e8hed by finding on the
descent of the steep hill-side, an indication of
the Osage's tread that he could not mistake.

Wingenund had followed the trail for several
hours, when he caught a distant view of a slight
column of smoke rising from a dell, the bottom
of which was concealed by intervening heights.
One of these, more rugged and lofty than the
rest, lay at his right hand, and he climbed with
some difficulty to the top of it, in hopes of being
able thence to descry the spot whence the amoke
arose. Neither was he disappointed in this ex-
pectation, for on reaching the height, he could
see into the deep bosom of the mountain glen,
where he clearly discerned a large body of men
and horses, assembled round a fire ; carefully
noting the nature of the intei^eaing ground^ he
it-descended the hilli and again threiv himself

-J

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

17ft

upon the trail of the Osage, which continued, as
he expected, to lead him in the diiection of the
unknown band.

As he ildvanoedhe felt the necessity of using
the greatest caution lest he should inadyertently
oome within sight of any scouts oi' stragglers
fiTDm the yallej below ; but fortune and his own
udU so far favoured his approach that he reached
onperceived a point whence he could more
elourly see the circle assembled round the fire,
and could distinguish the horses and the men
sufficieBtly to ascertain that they belonged to
some mountain tribe bent on a war excursion,
as they had with them neither their women nor
their lodges. With awakened curiosity and in-
terest, the youth now crept to a spot at a little
distance, where a confused pile of huge stones^
here and there overgrown with stunt^ shrubs,
<^ered a sheltered retreat, whence, without be-
ing himself seen, he could observe all that passed
below. In making his way to the place he was
ecMnewhat surprised to find what might almost
he called a beaten path, upon which the recent
tracks of men and horses, as well as of bison,
^ were clearly discernible.

He had scarcely time to conceal himself, when
he perceived two men coming directly towards
his hiding-place, in one of whom he recognised
the Osage chief, while the other belonged ap-
IMrently to some tribe of Indians that he had
never seen before. They came slowly up the
path before-mentioned, stopping almost at every
step, and conversing in the language of signs,
by which means their expressions of mutual
IHendship were as intelligible to the quick-wit-
ted youth as they were to each other. The
stranger was a fine-looking Indian, and though
lower in stature than his gigantic companion,
had the appearance of great muscular strength,
and his dress betokened, according to Indian
notions (^magnificence, a chief of high degree.
His black hair was clubbed behind his head, and
listened with several painted feathers bound
with fillets of ermine ; his hunting-shirt was of
the skin of the mountain goat, and both it and
lus deerskin leggins were ornamented with por-
cupine quiUs, and fringed with the scalp-locks
of enen^ies slain in battle ; he carried in his
hand a l6ng lance, also decorated with scalp-
locks, and at his back hung a quiver made from
the ddn of the panther, in which bristled a score
of arrows beautifully tipped with sharp flint, and
attached to it by a leather thong, was a bow so
short, that it looked more like the plaything of
a lK»y than the deadly weapon of a warrior.

Wingenand wondered to what tribe the stran-
ger might belong ; and as the two Indians seated
fiiemselves upon a fragment of rock only a few
yards from Uie recess in which he was en-
sooneed, he trusted that some signal would pass
by which his curiosity might be afterwards sat-
isfied.; at all events, it seemed clear that they
were already upon the best terms with each
ether, for they smiled and grinned, each placing
a hand upon the heart of the other, after which
Mahega extended his arms like a flying bird, and
then passed his right hand with a rapid move-
ment Tonnd his own scalp ; from which sign the
yonth nstantly knew that their plot was to at-
taok and kill the Upsarokas.

<« Double-tongued cowardly snake!** said
Wingenond to himself, " he made a league wHh

the Dahcotabs to destroy his Lenape friends,
and now he makes one with a stranger tribe to
destroy those with whom he eats aiM smokes.**

That the youth rightly conjectured the object
of the interview he could no longer doubt, when
Mahega, pointing directly to the valley ^^bere
the Crows were encamped, repeated again the
signals for attack and slaughter. Not a word
passed during this time, excepting when the
stranger drew from under his hunting shirt a
smalt whistle, made apparently either from a
bone or a reed, and quaintly ornamented with
stained quills and the down from the breast ol
some mountain bird ; having applied this to his
lips, he 4rew from it a peculisir sound, not re-
markable for its shrilhiess, irtit diflfeiettt from
any tone that Wingenund reuhembered to Have
heard before.

After two or three attemfts, Mahega suc-
ceeded in sounding it correctly ; and nodding
intelligently to the stranger, concealed it care-
fully in his belt ; they then exchanged the names
or war-cry by which they were io recognize each
other, Mahega teaching his now friend to say
**Washa8hef" and learning in return to pronounce
Kmn-f^" which he repeated three or four times
80 distinctly, that Wingenund caught and re-
membered it. These preparatory civilities having
passed, they proceeded to the interchange of pre-
sents, by which their alliance was to be cemented.

Mah^a drew from his girdle a pistol, which
he gave, together with a small leather poucl
containing lead and powder, to the straogei
chief, who received it with an air so puzzled
and mysterious, that Mahega could scarcely re-
frain from smiling. He turned the pistol over
and over, looking down the barrel, and examin-
ing the lock»with a curiosity that he cared not
to conceal ; he pointed it, however, towards a
mark in an adjoining rook, and made a sound
with his lips, whieh was intended to imitate its
report, repeating at the same time the word
** sachsi-nama,** as if to show that the name
and usa of the weapon were not strange to him,
although he might never have seen one before.
Mah^ then proceeded to show him how to use
it, making signs that with it he might kill all his
enemies; and upon the stranger expressing a
wish to see an instance of its power, he placed
a thin flat stone at the distance of a few yards,
and split it in two at the first shot ; after which
he reloaded it, showing at the same time the
use of the priming-pan and trigger.

It was not without a look of gratified pride
that he placed the pistol in his belt, repeatinjg
again and again, '* sacbsi-nama,** **nahtovi-
nama.'* He then unslung the short bow that
hung at his baek, and presented it, with the
panther-skin quiver full of arrows, to the Osage
chief, who received the gift with every appear-
ance of satisfaction, and they parted, the formei
returning towards the encampment of his tribe,
after he had told Mahega that the name of the
bow was ** nutsi-n&ma.***

* or 111 the Indlaa nattomi who inbabit the wild Rgimn
aear the base of the Rocky Motmtahi ranee, the nHMtneica
and poweiftal are the Blaek-feet Few, a any, white men
have penetrated into the heart of their eounti^, and le-
tomed to tell their tale. Very little !■ known, therefore,
either of their aulome or langnafs : and it may not be
nnintereetiog fbr the reader to be infonned, that every
particalar menUoned reipeeHnf ttiem in thlf Tolume wat
obtalnecl direct fimn a French tradei^ who had been per

176

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

Foi some time after the departure of bis new | him that he had news of great importance to
a..y, the Osage remained upon his seat ezamin- communicate to the Crow chiefs, and that no

ing the bow, which at first sight he had consid
ered a mere toy, but which he found, to his as-
tonishment, required all his force to draw it to
its full power. Being formed of bone, strength-
ened throughout with sinew, it was stiff and
elastic to an extraordinary degree ; and, al-
though not more than three feet in length, would
drive an arrow as far as an ordinary six-feet bow.
When he had sufficiently examined his new
acquisition, it occurred to the chief that he could
not, without risk of detection, carry it into the
Crow camp. He resolved, therefore, to hide it
in a dry cleft of the rock, and take it out again
after the issue of his plot should be decided. I

time should be lost before they were summoned
tb council. The horse-dealer rubbed his eyes,
as he wakened by degrees, and listened to thjs
intelligence, which he suspected at first to be
some trick on the part of the youth for the liber-
ation of his friends ; but there was an earnest
sim[rficity in his manner that carried conviction
with it ; and Besha endeavoured, as be threw
on his hunting-shirt, and fastened his belt, to
learn from the youth the nature and purport of
his intelligence. The latter seemed, however,
to be in no very communicative mood ; be mere-
ly replied, " Wingenund speaks not the Upsaro-
ka tongue ; let Besha repeat to the council word

This resolution threatened to bring about an after word what he hears, that "will be enough ;

unexpected catastrophe, as it happened that he
approached the very recess in which Wingenund
was stationed. Drawing the knife from his belt,
the youth stood in the inmost corner of the cav-
ern, ready, as soon as discovery became inevita-
ble, to spring upon bis powerful enemy ; but fate
had otherwise decreed, and the Osage passed
on to a higher and narrower cleft, where he de-
posited the quiver and the bow, carefully closing
the aperture with moss and lichen.

It was not until he had gone some distance
on his homeward way, that Wingenund emerged
from his hiding-place, and, having possessed
himself of, the quiver and bow. returned slowly
upon the Osage's trail towards the Upsaroka
oamp, proving as he went the surprising strength
of the weapon, and admiring the straightness
and beauty of the war-arrows with which the
quiver was supplied.*

Following unperceived, and at some distance,
the steps of the Osage, he found tjiat the latter
took a shorter, though a somewhat steeper and
more rugged, way than that by which he had
come ; so that very little more than two hours
of brisk walking brought him within sight of the
watch-fires of the Upsaroka camp, just as day
closed, and their light began to shine more
brightly through the valley. Availing himself
of the shelter of a stunted pine, the youth lay
down for some time, and did not re-enter the
camp until late at night, when he made his way
without interruption to Besha*s tent, giving to
the outposts by whom he was challenged the
countersign taught him by the horse-dealer.

On the following morning, before sunrise,
Besha was aroused by Wingenund, who told

inlaed to marry a Black-foot wife, and had resided nine-
laen yean among them. The construction of their lan-

Oe is very remarkable, and some account of it would
tle« be gladly received by philoioffists ; but such a
subject cannot be treated In a work Tike the present.
With respect to the words referred to in the text, it will
be seen that they show the synthetic nature of the Ian-
ipafe, ** n&ma" being the root, and signifying a weapon.
Hence came *' suksinftma," rifle ; literally, " heavy-weap*
on;** **8aksinama,** pietol; literally, •^ light-wvapon ;**
" nahtovinAma,'* vwnderfmlt or mediein^weapon ; and
''nltsinAma," literally, ueuest-weapon ; which latter name
htm probably been ^ven to the bow since the Black-feet
have learnt (he superior efficacy of fire-arms.

* It may iiot be generally known to European readers
fliat the arrows. used by the western Indians are of two
•orts. The hujUing''itrrowi which has a bead tapering in
the Ibrm of an acute loxenge, and firmly secured to the
•haft, so as to be easily withdrawn from a wound, and
the war-arrow, sometimes poisoned, but always barbed
like a flA-hook, and having its head so slightly fastened
to tfie shaft, a« to renudn Infljced in the wound when the
wood if poltad wt

he will serve both the Crows and the Delawares,
and will obtain thanks and presents from both.
Let Mahega, too, be called to attend the council.''
iThe horse-dealer having departed upon hn
errand, Wingenund found an opportunity to de-
tail briefly to Paul Miiller and Etbelston the
discovery that he had made on the precedingr
evening ; but it may well be imagined that be
could obtain from neither any information res-
pecting the mountain tribe with whom the Osage
was carrying on his treacherous intrigue.

" Let my son boldly speak the truth," said the
Missionary, " and leave the result to God.**

"Wingenund never told a lie," replied the
young Delaware ; and the bright, fearless ex-
pression of his countenance warranted the proud
assertion.

" How many are there in our crowded cities
and churches," said the Missionary cooking af-
ter the youth as he re-entered theliorse-dealer^s
lodge, " who dare echo that speech 1 yet me-
tbinks, as far as memory and conscience serve
him, he has said no more than the truth. I
have known him from his childhood, and believe
him to be as much ^ stranger to fsdsehood as to
fear."

" They are cousins-german, my worthy friend,**
said Etbelston, *' an,d generally dwell together !
I wonder not at the affection which Reginald
bears to that youth ; nature has stamped upon
his countenance all the high and generous quali-
ties that endear man to his brother. Let us en-
deavour to be present at the council which is
now assembling; we have been such quiet pris-
oners, that perhaps our guards will allow us to
be spectators on this occasion."

Besha happening to pass at this moment, ob-
tained for them the desired permission, whiefa
was the more readily granted that the Crow
sentries themselves were desirous of seeing
what was going forward, and knew that no dati-
ger could be apprehended from the two unarmed
captives. The spectacle that met their view
when they issued from the lodge was striking
and picturesque ; runners had been sent through-
out the camp, and all the principal chiefs, braves,
and medicine-men were already assembled in a
semicifcle, the concave centre of which was
formed by the lodge of White-Bull and his father,
the latter of whom had put on for the occasion
a magnificent head-dress of painted eagle-feath-
ers, which betokened his rank as head-ohtef
of the band. The horse-dealer stood in front
of his own lodge to the left, and frequent were
the lances directed to him from all qaarters, it

i

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

177

U

kafKig been generally understood that the coun-
(Ml was summoned to consider matters brought
forward by him. Behind him stood Wingenund,
wrapped in a loose blanket, which partially con-
cealed his features and covered entirely the rest
of his person ; on the opposite wing of the cir*
cle, and at a distance of twenty-five or thirty
yards, stood Mahega, his gigantic stature shown
off to the best advantage by the warlike dress
which he had put on complete for the solemn
occasion, his neck and arms being covered with
beads of various colours, and his fingers playing
unconsciously with the weighty iron-pointed
,mace or war-club which had slain so many of
those whose scalp-locks now fringed his leathern
shirt and hose. The warriors and other Indians
of inferior degree stood in the back-ground, and
some, anxious to get a better view of what was
going; forward, had perched themselves upon the
adjoining rocks and cliffs, where their dusky
forms, dimly seen through the mists which were
now vanishing before the beams of the rising
sun, gave a wild and picturesque effect to. the
scene.

Nearly half an hour was consumed by the
soothsayers, or medicine-men, in going through
their formal mumo&eries, to ascertain whether
the hour and the occasion were favourable for
the proposed business ; and it was not until the
medicine-pipe h^d been passed round, and the
chief functionary had turned gravely to the
north, south, east, and west, blowing to each
quarter successively a whiff of medicine-smoke,
that he gave his permission for the council to
proceed with its deliberations.

During all this time a profound silence reigned
thioughout the caoip, the women suspending
their scolding, chattering, and domestic avoca-
tions, and even the children peeping, half-fright-
ened, from behind their mothers, or stealing
away to some spot where they might laugh and
play without fear of being whipped for disturb-
ing the solemnities.

The venerable father of White-Bull now re-
turned the great pipe to the medicine-men, say-
ing, in a voice distinctly audible throughout the
circle, " Besha has called the chiefs and braves
of the Upsaroka together ; they are come— their
ears are open — ^let the one-eyed man, who brings
horses from the far prairies, speak with a single
t9ngue."

Thus called upon, the horse-dealer stepped
forward, saying, ** Besha is neither wise in
council, nor a chief among warriors ; he has
travelled far among the eastern tribes, and he
knows their tongues ; he stands here to give
out of his mouth what goes in at his ear. Let
the Upsaroka warriors listen ; they are not
fools ; they will soon know if lies are told to
them. Let them look at this youth ; his blanket
k that of Besha's slave ; he is not what he
stems ; he is a son of the Lenap6, a friend of
the whites ; yet he is come alone into the camp
to show tolbe Upsaroka that a snake is crawl-
ing among their lodges."

A murmur ran through the assembly as Be-
•hsi pronoucced these words, and pointed to
Wingenund, who, throwing the blanket into
the hollow of his left arm, advanced to the front,
and, with a slight inclination to tfafe old chief,
awaited his permission to proceed.

The Toath, the graceful form, the open coun-

tenance, and the dignified bearing of Winge>
nund as he stood forward in the assembled cir-
cle, prepossessed the Crows strongly in his fa-
vour ; and they await^, with excited curiosity,
the intelligence that he had to communicate ;
but their chief did not appear dispose^ to gratify
their i^Tipatience, for after whispering a few
words to a messenger who stood beside him, h«
relapsed into silence, scanning with a fixed gaze
the countenance of the young Delaware. Th«
latter bore the scrutiny with modest, yet undis-
tufbed composure, and not a voice was raised
in the council until the return of the messenger,
conducting a Crow doctor or conjuror, some-
what advanced in years, who took his station
by the chief, and gave a sflent assent to the
whispered orders that he receiyed.

It may well be imagined with what mingled
feelings of surprise and indignation thehau^ty
Osage beheld the young Delaware thus stand-
ing forward in the midst of the council-circle ,
that his presence boded no good to himself he
well knew ; bat how and wherefore he came,
and why he, belonging at he did to a hostfle
band, was thus permitted to appear before the
assembly of Crow warriors, he was quite at a
loss 'to understand. His suspense, however,
was not destined to be of long duration ; for, as
soon as Besha, in obedience to a signal from
the chief, had desired Wingenund to speak what
he had to say, the youth came another step for-
ward, and said, in a clear voice—

" There is a snake among the lodges of the
Upsaroka — a hidden snake, that will bite before
its rattle is heard." '

The Crows looked from one to the other aa
Besha translated this sentence, and the old con-
juror gave a slight nod to the chiefs indicating
that the youth's nieaning was rightly given. It
may be as well to inform th^ reader, thftt the
said conjuror had in early life been taken pris-
oner by the Pawnees, with a party of whom he
had been conveyed to a great council held with
the Indian agents at St. Charles's, in Missouri,
respecting the cession and appropriation of ter-
ritory. Several of the Westerly Delawares had
been present at this meeting, which was pro-
tracted for many weeks, and the Crow prisoner
had picked up a smattering at their tongue,
which, however slight it might be, had occa-
sioned him to be sent for on this occasion to
check any propensity for untruth that might be
entertained by the horse-dealer. Whether the
latter was influenced by these, or by other mo-
tives, he rendered faithfully the conversation
that ensued, and therefore it is not necessary to
notice further the part played by the interpreter.
" Who is it that speaks 1" demanded the old
chief, with dignity ; **the Crows open not their
ears to the idle words of strangers."

" Then let them shut their ears,** replied the
youth, boldly, ""before another sun has set,
they will wish they had listened to the words of
Wingenund !"

" Who is Wingenund 1 Is he not an enemy?
have not his people shed Upsaroka blood 1 wiiy
then should they believe his words V*

*' Wingenund is the son of a Lenap6 ehkiL
For a thousand summers his fathers have hunt-
ed over forest and plain beyond the Great lU^er.
Wingenund has heard of their deeds, and he
will not stain his lips with a Ue. The Lenap6

178

THE PRAIKlfi-BlKU.

ftftTe taken Oroii sealpjB in defence of their own ;
IfTingennnd will not deny it ; but he came here
to serYe his white friends, not to hurt the Uj>-
Baroka."

On hearing this bold reply, White-Bull bent
^his brow fiercely upon the speaker; but the
*youUi met his eye with a look of bright un-
troubled confidence, while he quietly awaited
the chief's further interrogation.

" Let the son of the Lenape speak, but let him
beware ; if his tongue is forked, the Upsaroka
knives wiA cut it but from iiis head.*'

V Wingenund is not a woman, that he should
be frightened with big words. When he speaks,
the truth comes from his lips ; and if he chooses
to be silent, the Upsaroka knives cannot make
him speak," replied the youth, with a look of
lofty sconip

'*Is it sol we shall see," cried White-Bull,
springing forward, at the siime time drawing
to knife, with which he struck full at the naked
inreast of the youth. Not a muscle moved in
the Ibna or countenance of Wingenund ; ' his
eye jemained steadily fixed on that of the Crow,
and he did not even raise in his defence the
aiffl ov<?r which his blanket was suspended,
lathing c\ould have saved him from instant
death, had n/>t White-Bull himself arrested the
blow just as it was falling, so that the point cf
the knife scratched, but did not penetrate the
skin. Wingenund b^miled, and the Crow warrior,
partly ashamed of his own ebullition of temper,
and partly in admiration of the cool courage of
the young Delaware, said to his father, " Let
him speak ; there are no lies upon his tongue."

The old man looked for a moment sternly at
his son, as if he would have reproved him for
his violence, in interrupting the business of the
council, but apparently he thought it better to
let it pass ; and turning toward Wingenund, I^e
said, in a milder tone than he had yet used,
** Let the young stranger speak, if be will ; his
words will not be. blown away : if he has seen
a snake, let him show it, and the chiefs of the
Upsaroka will owe hiro a debt."

Thus appealed to, Wingenund, slowly raising
the forefinger of hii right band, pointed it full
upon Mab^ga, saying, in a loud voice, " There
is the snake ! Fed by the hand of the Upsaro-
ka, clad in their gifts, warmed by their fire, he
jow tries to bite them, and give them over to
<heir enemies, even as Us black heart and fork-
ad tongue have before destroyed those whom
ae called brothers."

It is beyond the power of words to paint the
rage of the conscious Osage, on hearing this
charge ; he concealed it, however, by a strong
efifbrt, under a show of just indignation, ex-
claiming aloud, "The Upsaroka warriors are
not fools, that they should believe the idle words
of a stranger boy, a spy who stole into their
camp by night, and now tickles their ears with
lies."

"The young Lenap^ must tell more," said
the old chief, gravely, " before the Upsaroka
can believe bad things of a warrior who has
smoked and fought with them, and has taken
the scalps of their enemies."

Thus called upon, Wingenund proceeded to
relate distinctly the circumstances narrated in
the last chapter. His tale was so clearly tdd ;
bis description of the locality so accurate, that

the attention of the whole cotmcQ was riyeted;
and tiiey .listened with the most profound atten-
tion. A cloud gathered upon the brow of
White-Bull, and the gigantic frame of Mah^gm
swelled with a tempest of suppressed passion.
Independently of the dangers that now threat*'
ened him, bis proud spirit chafed at the thought
of being thus tracked, discovered, exposed, and
disgraced by a boy, and his fury was heightened
by observing the bright eye of the Belawaie
youth fixed upon him with a steady, searchmg
gaze, indicative at once of conscious truth and
triumph. Still he resolved to hold out to the
last ; he trusted that after the great services he
had rendered in battle to the Crows, they would
at least believe his word before that of an un-
known youth, who came amongst them under
such suspicious circumstances. These reflec-
tions passing rapidly through his mind, restored
his disturbed self-possession, and enabled htra
to curl his haughty features into an expression
of sneering contempt.

Great was the excitement among the Cr»ws
as Wingenund described, with unerring miante-
ness and accuracy, the dress and equipments of
the stranger with whom Mah^ga had held the
interview, and there was a dead silence in the
council when the interpreter was ordered to in-
quire whether he knew to what tribe the strange
Indian belonged.

"Wingenund knows not," he rej^ied; "but
he heard the name that was taught to the Osags
as the battle-ciy of his new allies."

" E-cha-pi-td P* shouted the impetuous White- .
Bull, who had already recognised in the youth's
description one of the warriors of the Black-feel»
the hereditary enemies^of his tribe.

" It was not so," replied Wingenund gravely.
" Ka-in-na* was the name ; it was twice 8po>
ken."

A deep murmur ran round the assembly,
White-Bull exchanged a signifieant glance with
the nearest of liis braves, and again a profound
silence reigned throughout the assembly.

Mah^ga now felt that the crisis of his fate
was at hand, and that everything must depend
on his being able to throw discredit on the tale
of Wingenund. This was not, however, an
easy task, for be suspected Besha of a secret
leaning to the Delaware side, while the fierce
and lowering looks of the bystanders showed
him how little was wanting to make the smoth-
ered flame burst forth.

These indications did not escape the aged
chief, who spoke a few words in a serious and
warning tone, the purport of which was to re-
mind them that the present council was sacred
to the Medic^pe, and was not to be desecrated
by any violence or shedding of blood. He con-
cluded by saying, " Let the Washashe speak for
himself, and let Besha give his words truly, if
he does not wish to have his ears cut off."

Thus admonished, the horse-dealer lent aO
his attention to the Osage, w ho came forward

* The name by which the Black-feet are generallv
known among the Crows is "Bchipeta." In their owa
tongue they call Uiemselves Sikaikaga ;'* both wonli lotv
ing the signification of Black-feeL They are divided iim
three bands, the largest of which Is caHed by the genetic
name above mentioned, as being that of Uie tribe : tiie
othor two bands an called ^Piecan" or "Flegan'* (th«
meaning of which word is not known to the author) ami
Ka-in-na or * Bloody-men,** which last are held to be the
, ffloai fleree and foHBidabte of the flUM

J

THE PjRAIME-BLRD.

in

to address the ooaiiei] wi^h an ia^posiDg digp|ty
ol manner that almost made the most suspicious
ot bis hearers doubt the tmth of the' accusations
brought against him.

Being now in front of the semicircle, which
vas not more than twenty yards in width, be
iras directly opposite to Wingeound, who stood
furward a few feet in advance of its other wing.
Tlae contrast offered by the stature and bearing
of the accuser an4 the accused, the slight, ac-
. tire frame, the youth and grace of the one, .and
the haughty air and gigantic bulk of the other,
struck Ethdston so forcibly that he could jiot
forbsar whispering to Paul MuUer, "Worthy
Father, does not the scene recall to mind the
meeting between the Hebrew shepherd and the
Giant of Gath^'*

" It does, my son, and I misjudge the looks
^f the Osage if they part hence witliout the
shedding of blood. I have long studied his
countenance, and, however skilfully he has sub-
dued its ezpresaion, I can trace the full storm
of passions raging within his breast.''

Further discourse was prevented by the com-
mencement of the Osage's speech, which he de-
livered with a tone and gesture of indignation,
suitable to one who declared himself injured
and belied.

. He began by recapitula,ting the services that
he had rendered to the Crows, the 'faithful war-
riors that he had lost in their cause, and the
valuable piresehts concealed in the cache, to
which he was even now conducting them ; on
the other band» he painted the injuries they had
received from the Lenap4, who had come into
their country in league w^th the white-skins, the
bane of theii tribe and race, that their hands
were still wet with Upsaroka blood ; and " whose
is the forked tongue," said he, "that is to cover
with lies and dirt the fame of the great chief of
the Washashe, the sworn brother of the Upsa-
roka 1 * Who, but a boy, a atranger, a liar, and
a spy» telling his idle dreams to the council to
break the friendship of warriors whom his cow-
ardly tribe, and their pale-Xaced allies, dared not
meet in the field !"

During the whole of this tirade, which was
delivered with much vehemence and gesticula-
tion, Wingenund htood motionless as a statue,
his calm eye fixed upon the excited countenance
of his opponent with an undisguised expression
of contempt.

Receiving no reply, Mah^ga continued:
'^Chiefs and brothers, you are wise in council
— men of experience ; your ears will not be
tickled with the idle songs of this false-tongued
singing-bird; a messenger who brings such
news, to the great council of the Upsaroka — ^who
tells them thai their brother who has fought by
their side, and smoked at their fire, is a ibrked
snake, he must bring something better able to
convince them than the cunning words coming
(rom his own lying lips !"

These words, supported by the commanding
tone assumed by the Osage, were not without
. iheir efifect eipon the minds of that fierce and
ieeply- interested assemblage.

Wingenund waited until the speech of his an-
tagonist had been translated to them, when he
replied^ with unmoved composure, " If the Crow
warriors require better witness than words, it
is not difficult to find • they have already been

told that the Kain-na sU-anger ^ve toUab^
a present of a bow and arrows, which be hid Ib
the rocks ; Wiqgenund took them out, and hers
they are."

As the' youth spoke he dropped the biluiket
that had been thrown over bis left arm an^
shoulder, holding up to the council the bow and
arrows, which all present instantly recognised
as being made and ornamented by the Black-
feet.

"Are the warriors yet convinced," continued
the youth, raising his voice, " or do they wish for
more 1 if they io, let them seize the Wasbasho
wolf, they will find in his belt—"

He was not allowed to finish the sentence ,
the storm that had long been brooding, now
burst in all its fury. Mah^ga, driven to despe-
ration by the damning evidence brought against
him, and reckless of all save the gratifica|lpa
of his fierce revenge, whirled his iron-pointed
mace around his head, and launch^ it with
tremendous force at Wingenund.

Never had the latter even for an instant taken
his falcon eye oft the Osage ; but so swift yr,aa
the motion with which the weapon was thrown,
that although he sprung lightly aside to avoid
it, the spiked Jiead grazed and laid open his
cheek, .whence it glanced ofiT, and^ striking an
iinlucky Crow who stood behind him, felled .
him, with a broken arm, to .the ground. Even
in the act of stooping to escape the mace, Win-
genund fitted an arrow into the Black-foot bow
which he held in his hand ; and rising quick as
thought, let it fly at his gigantic adversary with
so true an aim, that it pierced the wind-pipe,
and the point came out at the back of his neck,
close to the spine. While the Osage, hatf
strangled and paralysed, tugged inelfectually at
the fatal shaft, Wingenund leaped upon him
with the bound of a tiger, and uttering aloud
the war-cry of the Lenape, buried his knife in
the heart of his foe. With one convulsive j
groan the dying Osage fell heavily to the earth ;
and ere the bystanders had recovered from theif
astonishment, his blood-stained scalp hung at
the belt of the victorious Delaware.

For a moment all was tumult and confusion ;
the few remaining Osages made a rush towards
Wingenund to avenge the death of their chief,
but they were instantly overpowered, and se-
cured with thongs of pliant bark, while White-
Bull sprang into the arena of combat, and in a
voice of thunder shouted to his warriors, to
stand back and unstring their bows.

During the brief but decisive conflict the ap*
pearance of Wingenund was so much changed,
that Ethelston .declared to his friend after-
wards that he should not have recognised him.
The muscles of his active frame swelled with
exertion, while the expanded nostril and flash*
ing eye gave to his countenance an expression
of fierce excitement, almost amounting to fero*
city. Now that the struggle was over, he resum-
ed without an efifort, the habitual quiet gentleness
of his demeanour, and turning to Besha, said.
" Let the Upsaroka chiefs look below the belt of
that dead wolf; perhaps they will find the sig-
nal whistle of the Kainna."

The horse-dealer stooped ; and searching as
he was directed, found a small leathern bag, on
opening which there fell out, as Wingenund had
said, the vvhistle of the Black-foot chief; a veil

I

180

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

f indignation buret from the assembly, some
of the nearest of whom Vented their rage by
bestowing sundry kicks upon the inanimate re-
mains of the treacherous Osage.

Popularity is a plant that springs up as sud-
, denly, and perishes as rapidly among the tribes
of the western wilderness, as among the mobs
of Paizs or of London ; and Wfngenund, whose
life would scarcely have been safe had he been
found an hour earlier in the Crow camp, was
now its hero and its idol. To say that the
youth was not elated, would be to say that he
was not human ; for > he had avenged the
slaughter of his kindred, and had overcome the
' most powerful and renowned warrior in the Mis-
souri plains, the fell destroyer of| the race of
Tamenund. But so well had he been trained
in the school of self-command, that neither
Ethelston, nor Paul Muller, who had known him
from his childhood, could trace in his demean-
our anything difibrent from its usual quiet mod-
esty ; and they waited, with no little impatience,
to see what results would ensue from his tri-.
Qmph in respect to their own release.

The Crow chiefs and warriors did not forget,
in the excitement of the scene just described,
the threatened atiacl^ to which the treachery of
Mahega had exposed them ; and they now
crowded round Wingenund, whUe White-Bull
put many questions to him, through Besha, re-
specting the position end apparent numbers of
the Black-feet, to all which he answered with a
precision that increased the high opinion that
they already entertained of his quickness and
intelligence. White-Bull even condescended
so far as to explain to him his own projects for
withdrawing his band from the neighbourhood
of the formidable Kainna to some more secure
position. A slight smile curled the lip of the
young Delaware as he said to Besha, " The
council of the Crow chief does not seem good
to Wingenund ; if White^BuU will agree to his
terms, he will place the Kainna chief, and half
a score of his best warriors as captives in this
camp before to-morrow at midday !'*

A general murmur of surprise followed these
words ; and White-Bull, somewhat nettled, in-
quired what might be the terms proposed.

" They are," said Wingenund, " first, that
the two white prisoners shall be immediately
restored to their friends; secondly, that the
Osages shall be given up to the Lenape ; third-
ly, that there shall be peace and friendship be-
tween the friends of Wingenund and the Upsa-
rcka until the snow falls again upon the earth.*'

The leaders having conversed apart for a few
minutes, White-Bull said, " If Wingenund fails,
and the Kainna take many scalps from the Up-
saroka, what will happen then 1"

^*They will take the scalp of Wingenund
wOo," replied the youth calmly.

Again the Crow chiefs consulted togetherfor
some tune, and at length they resolved to agree
to the terms proposed by Wingenund. The
medicine-pipe was brought, and was passed
from the chief to him, as well as to Ethelston
and the Missionary; after which Wingenund
Btid to WhitCrBull, " There is no time to be
lo3f, ; let sixty of the best warriors be chosen,
tvMity to go with Wingenund, and forty with
¥''3ite-Bull, and let one be found, very large
at..l tall ; let him put on the dress of Mahega;

Wingenund will take the whistle, ^and &n wiU
be ready."

A short' time sufficed to collect and marshal
the party ; and Ethelston was, at his own earn-
est request, permitted to join the band led by
the Delaware ^outh, being anxious to see the
manoeuvio<} about to take place, and Besha :
having made himself responsible for his fidcd ;
ity.

Wingenund led the way at a swift pace, un-
til he gained the summit of the first range of
hills ; nor did he slacken it until he had crossed
the valley beyond, and stood upon the opposite
brow of the heights, whence the Black-fooC
band was visible. Here he concealed and halt-
ed his party, until he had crept forward and ex-
amined all the range of hills within sight. Aa
soon as he had satisfied himself that all waa -^
quiet, he drew his party gently on, and at length
succeeded in hiding White-Bull and his forty
men behind dome rocks in the steepest and nar
rowest part of the gorge leading down to the
glen below. His quick eye had noted the spot
before, and a more minute inspection now con-
vinced^ him that there was no other pass by
which the enemy could ascend the height, and
that a handful of determined -men might de-
fend it against ten times their number.

Having^'warned White-Bull to keep his own
men closS, and to stir neither hand nor foot
until he heard the Lenap6 war-cry, which waa
t^e appointed signal, he retreated with his own
band of twenty men to the point where the in-
terview between Mahega and the Black-foot
had taken place, which was about forty yards
higher up the mountain, and where the gorge
was almost as narrow and precipitous as at the
pass below. Here he concealed his men among a
the rocks, and Ethelston primed and loaded
three rifies which they had taken from the
Osages, and which were now destined for the
use of Wingenund and himself

For several weary hours the youth watched
in vain for the approach of the Black-feet ; and
any nerves less steady than his own, would
have been shaken by the remembrance of the
disagreieable consequences that might result
from the failure of his plot. He lay, however,
still and motionless as the st6ne upon which his
elbow rested, until, just as the grey hue of even-
ing was beginning to steal over the landscape^
he descried an Indian slowly ascending the
steep, followed at a distance by a long line of
warriors. A low whistle from Wingenund
warned his party to be ready, but he ^loved not,
until the advancing band were sufficiently near
for him to recognise in their leader the chie^
who had conferred with Mahega on the preced-
ing day. , >

While they were approaching in careless se
curity, the Crows prepared for the attack, ead)
man being provided with a tough halter of bi-
son-hide, in addition to his usual weapons ot
bow, knife, and war-\;lub, and the leader of the
Black-feet had already passed the lower goiige,
(where White-Bull and his partj^ were conceal- I
ed,) ere he sounded the signal preconcerted '
with Mahega. Wingenund immediately replied
by a nimilar sound drawn from the whistle
which he had secured, desiring at the same time
the Crow who wore the dress of the slain
Osagi» to show himself at the edge of the rocli

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

lit

tkirting the pass. The Black-foot chiet, tom^
pietely deceived, toiled lazily up the steep and
narrow ascent, beckoning to his men to follow ;
and just as he reached the upper station Win-
geaand, seeing that twelre or fourteen of them
were now fairly caged between the party below
and his own, leapt from his concealment upon
the astonished leader of the Black-feet, and
dealing him a blow on the head that stunned
and disabled him, shouted aloud the war-cry of
the Lenape.

No sooner was the signal uttered, than White-
Boll rushed from his ambascade, and seized the
pass below ; so that the unfortunate Black-feet,
enclosed between the two parties, panic-struck
by the suddenness of the attack, and the fall of
their leader, could neither fight nor fly ; and in
spite of their desperate, but unavailing attempts
at resistance, were all in the course of a few
minutes disarmed and securely bound. '

Meanwhile the mi^n body of their comrades
made a gallant attempt to force the lower pass,
but it was so stoutly defended by the Crows,
and was in itself so narrow and difficult, that
they were soon forced to retire with loss. Nei-
ther could those who succeeded to the com-
mand bring them again to the attack. The war-
C17 of the Lenape had never before been heard
in these glens, and the .dismayed Black-feet
thought that the evil spirits were fighting
tacainst them; while to increase their terror,
Ethelston and Wingenund 4red two of the
rifles over their heads, the bullets from which
whistled past them, and the echoes of their
report, prolonged by the rocks and crags around
died away at length like the muttered thunder
of a distant storm. Terrified by the suddenness
of the attack, and by the noise of the fire arms,
ignorant of the number, position, and even of
the 'nation of their unexpected assailants, and
fearful that another manoeuvre might cut oflT
their retreat, they fled precipitately down the
mountain side, and halted not until they brought
their tale of disgrace and disaster into the
Kainna camp.

In the course of a few hours after the events
above narrated, Wingenund and White-Bull
stood together before the lodge of the aged
chief of the Crows, whom the former addressed
as follows; — ^"'My father, see there the Kainna
chief, and twelve of his best warriors ; they are
prisoners; their life hangs upon my father's
breath ; the promise of Wingenund has not been
blewn away by the wind."

Besha having duly translated this address,
was desired by the old chief (whose astonish-
ment was scarcely exceeded by his delight) to
bestow the highest praise that he could express
upon the young Delaware's skill and courage ;
to- which efiTusion of complimentary eloquence
he replied, "My father, Wingenund has not
Msen many summers ; he has no skill in speech,
Dor experience io council; but he knows that
the Great Spirit loves a single tongue, and a
true heart. Mahega was cunning as a wolf,
Bwift as a deer, strong as a bison-bull ; but
ihere was poison in his heart, and lies dwelt
nader his tongue, like snakes under a smooth
Btone. What is the end 1 The mountain-buz-
lards pick his bones; and when his children
uk, — where is the grave of Mah6ga? there
iliall be none to answer. My father, when the I

sun has risen, the treaty shall be made, thfl
pipe of peace shall be smoked, and the Medicine
of the White tent shall bring many good things
to the Upsaroka.'*

Having thus spoken, Wingenund retired to
the lodge of Besha ; and the captive Black-feet
having been placed under a guard, White-Bull
remained in consultation with his father, while
the other warriors soon forgot in sleep the fa^
tigues of the past eventful day.

CHAPTER XLIV

WIngenttad and his Mendi retarn towards their camp.-
A seiloas adventare and a serious argoment oecor by
the way.—^howing, also, how the extrsoMM of ^e^
surprise, and J07 may be crowded into the space of a
few minutes.

Thb result of the consultation between
White-Bull and his father was, that the terms
of the treaty made with Wingenund should be
strictly observed ; but lest the ingenuous reader
should be misled into the belief that this resolu-
tion was influenced by any considerations of
good faith or honesty, it may be as well to in-
form him that the advantages and disadvan-
tages of the two opposite courses were dis-
cussed with the most deliberate calculation,
and the path of honour was at length selected
upon the following grounds : —

First. It was expedient to make friends with
the allied band, inasmuch as the latter were
formidable enemies . from their courage, skill,
and equipment.

Secondly. They had many bales of cloth, blaa-
ketai, and other goods, of which they would
probably make liberal presents to their friends ;
and

Thirdly. The Crows having just incensed and
triumphed over their hereditary foes the Black-
feet, they might expect reprisals from the latter ;
in which event, the alliance of a band com-
manding upwards of twenty ''medicine-fire-
weapons," was not to be despised.

Having embraced this resolution, and com-
municated it by secret messengers to the prin-
cipal braves and conjurers, the worthy sire and
son summoned them to a grand council on the
following morning, at which the treaty was
ratified in due form ; Wingenund, Paul Miiller,
and Ethelston representing the allied band, and
each party loading the other with prajses and '
compliments, until, the oily tongue of Besha was
almost weary o( translating and retranslating
their expressions of mutual amity and fidelity.

The four unhappy survivors of Mah^ga's band
were how brought forward, their arms being
securely pinioned behind them, and Besha in«
quired of Wingenund his wishes concerninf
them. It needed only a word from his Ups^
and they would have been stabbed, burnt, 01
more slowly tortured to death on the spbi^
The youth looked at them sternly for a moment,
and Paul MuUer trembled lest the vengeful in-
stinct of his race should guide his decision ; but
he replied, ''Wingenund will take them with
him to the Lenape camp. War-Eagle, Netis,
and the Black Father shall hold a council, and
what they think best, it shall be done.'*

EthelBtoa Paul Mullet and Wingenund now

L

184

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

his face. I looked round once or twice, and my
eye met his ; I saw there was mischief, for he
looked too good.' When I passed to ask you
for the cap, I looked again, quickly, but closer,
and saw that his hands were free, though he
xept them together as before."
* Ethelston could not forbear laughing at the
youth's notion of the ill-favoured Osage " look-
ng too good,'* but feeling both amused and in-
erested- by his replies, he again said, ** I must
own my admiration of your quick-sightedness,
for doubtless the Osage tried to make the ez;
preesion of his face deceive you.'*

" He has not the face of an Indian warrior,*'
said the youth, scornfully. " When a deed is to
be done or concealed, let my brother try and
read it in the fhce of War^Eagle, or any great
chief of the Lenap^ ! As well might he strive to
count the stones in the deenest channel of the
great Muddy River,* or thPstars of heaven in
a.cloudy *ight !"

The party had now struck a broad trail, lead-
ing across the valley, and up the opposite height,
in the direction of the Delaware camp ; the
Osage prisoners were therefore sent to the
front, and ordered to march forward on the trail,
by which means' Wingenund enjoyed the ad-
vantage of watching their movements, while he
continued to converse with his friends.

♦•I own,*' said Ethelston, "that I had not be-
fore considered a command over the muscles
of the countenance as being a matter of so
much importance in the character of an Indian
warrior.**

" Nevertheless the youth is right in what he
says,** replied Paul Muller. ^" Where cunning
and artifice are so often resorted to, a natural
and unconoerned air of candour is an admirable
shield of defence : the quickness of sight which
you lately observed in Wingenund, is a heredi-"
tary quality in his race. The grandfather Ta-
menund was so celebrated for it, that he was
called by a name signifying, * The man who has
eyes in his back :* he was killed only twenty
years ago, during the fierce irruption made by a
band of the five nations into the valley of Wyo-
ming, to which the old man had retired in the
hope of closing his eyes in peace.**

"I have heard of that tragedy,** said Ethels-
ton ; ** indeed, it occurred while I was at school
on the banks of the Muskingum ; and often, as
the boys went or returned, they used to frighten
.each other with cries of * The Indians !* but I
have since been much absent from my own
country, and never rightly understood who were
the actors in that^scene of terror, and what
were the tribes usually known by the name of
the Six Nations, for so I have always heard
them called.**

" There were in fact only five,** replied the

* rhe Missouzt is here alladed to, the ancient name of
which, ** Pekitanoui," signifies ** muddy water,'' in the
language of the niinois, once a most powerful tribe, dwell-
ing near its confluence with the Mississippi. They have
since given a name to one of the states ik the Union, but
not one of the tribe survives at this day. Some antiqua-
rians think that they were formerly a branch of the great
uatl(ni of the Delawares (a supposition confirmed by the
resemblance of their name, Il-Ienni, to that of the Lenni
— ^Lenap^) ; «ne half of which remained on the great
prairtes bordering the Mississippi, while the other half
. overran, and finally occupied, the greater portion of
^. coontrv betwetB th« O^aadth^ AtUAtir'HI*' Cfc««*^

Missionary ; " for although the Tnscaroras join-
ed the confederation, they did not originally be-
long to it. These five are known among white
men by the following names : the Mohawks^
Oneidas, Cayugas, Onondagas, and Senecas;
and it was a band of the latter that made the
irruption into the valley of Wyoming. I dare
say that Wingenund knows more of them than
I do, for he often heard Tamenund speak of
them, and he knew their history like the tra-
ditions of his own tribe.**

" Wingenund has not forgotten,** replied the
youth, " what his grandfather taught him con-
cerning the Five Nations. The names spoken
by the Black Father are those commonly given
them ; but they call themselves otherwise.**

" Tell me, Wingenund,** said Ethelston, **the
names by which they are known among them-
selves V*

'' The Mohawks are called Coningionah : the
Oneidas, Oni-eut-kah— or, * The people of the
standing-stone ;* the Cayugas, Senanda Wanan-
du-nah — *The people of the great pipe;* the
Onondagas, Nundagekah — < People of the small
hill;* the Senecas, Nandaw&-gah—«* People of
the big hill.* But the council name of the last
is different.**

'* What do you mean by the comcil name T^

** Many of the nations have more than one
name ; and the council name is never spoken
except by the chiefs and wise men in council ;
the women and boys seldom know it ; and, if
they do, they must not speak it.*'

** Did Tamenund tell you the conncU name of
the Senecas 1**

" Yes ; it is Oni-hoout — * Those who shut the
door ;* because the Senecas live the furthest to
the southwest, and guard the others from the
approach of their enemies.***

*' It always appeared to me,** said Ethelston,
turning to the Missionary, **that the variety
and arbitrary alteration of Indian names pre-
sent an insuperable barrier in the way of any
inquiry into their national or local history.*'

" Certainly, my son ; the difiiculty is great^
and proceeds from various causes : — First, be-
cause it is frequently, perhaps generally, the
case among Indian nations, that the son takee
the name of the mother, and not, as with us,
that of the father. Secondly, there often are,
as you have just learnt from Wingenund, two
or three names by which the same person or
tribe is designated. Thirdly, nothing is more
common than for a warrior to receive a new
name from any daring or remarkable feat that
he may have performed, in which case his for-
mer name is dropped, and soon forgotten : and»
lastly, it must be remembered, that we, Ameri-
cans, Germans, and English, have obtained the
greater part of our Indian nomenclature, both

* Tliese, and many other particnlaiB respecting the Six
Nations, the author had from the lips of a veteran, who
was carried off as a child by the Senecas when they
sacked Wyoming. He was adopted into their tribe, and
lived with them the greater part of his life, during a por-
tion of which he acted for them in the capacity of iqter-
preter and Indian agent : afterwards he reti^d to spend «
vigorous and green old age in the western part of the stat*
of New- York. He always spoke with affectionate en-
thusiasm of his adopted kindred, and it was easy to see
that the white man*s blood in his veins circulated throodi
an Indian heart. Those who wish to know more of the
early history of the Five Nations, aib referred to the ae
•iiat^eii4.iBttneUngaMoaBt|Eivene€tb«sn bvCSoldea

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

18ft

as to persons and places, from the French ;
who, in the Tarious capacities of possessors,
adTentorers, missionaries, voyageurs, hunters,
and interpreters, have overran almosr the whole
of this continent before ns.**

, ** Is it, then, jour opinion that the French

t^veUers and writers from whom these names

'have been chiefly derired, have been rery

careless and inaccurate in their transcription

of them 1"

"Extremely so. When they first reached
and descended the Mississippi, they called it the
' Colbert ;' afterwards on finding what a mag-
. nificent river it became when it received the
waters of the Missouri, they called it * La ri-
viere St. Louis,* by which name it was known
^ for many years, until insensibly it recovered its
i.« Indian appellation. When the adventurer^
came to any unknown tribe, they called them
by some name descriptive of the accidental cir-
cumstances under which they first saw them,
and these names they have ever since retain-
ed. Thus, the l^Hnnebagoes in the north hap-
pened, when first visited, to be drying fish in
their camp^ and thence obtained the pleasant
name by which they are now known, * Les Pu-
ans !' Another band, some of whom had ac-
cidentally been scorched, by the prairie and un-
derwood near their encampment taking fire,
have ever since been called * Les Bois-brul^s ;*
another, * Les Gros Ventres.'* The Dahcotah
nation they have called * lies Sioux ;' the Ari-
I eara, * Les His i* and so forth, until it is diflScult,

\ if not impossible, to recognize any of the origi-

^ nal Indian names under their French disguise/'
**I grant this,*' said Ethelston. "Yet we
must not forget that the English have in sever-
al instances laid themselves open to the same
charge ; otherwise the great nation to which
our young friend belongs would not have been
called after a Norman baron ! Bat you will
surely allow that the early French missionaries
in North America were men of great piety,
learning, aind enterprise 1"

" It is true, my son, many of them were so ;
and none can feel more. grateful than I do to
such of them as laboured sincerely in the ser-
vice of the Crospel. Yet I am bound to say,
that in the best authorised account which they
4ent to France from Natchez of the surround-
ing country,! there is so much pedantry, preju-
dice, and fancy, mingled with highly interest-
ing information, that the book cannot be quo-
ted as one possessing historical authority. A
writer who gravely infers that the Mississippi
Indians came from the north-eastern straits,
from the identity of the Choctaws with the peo-
jj^ pie of Kamch&kt& (or Royaume des Chactas),
mast expect that some of his other arguments
and speculations should be received with dif-
fidence. — ^But see, we have reached the sum-
mit of this range, and Wingenund's sparkling
eye is already fixed upon the tent of Prairie-
bird.'*

« There it is !" said the youth ; " They have
moTed it since I came away, and placed it on
ihat point nearer the stream."

Little did he suspect what had occurred du-
Tiog his brief absence, as, with a foot light and
elastic as his heart, he put himself at the head

* The Blinnetareet.

^ Tbe e^ebrated .*IiettrM EdifiantM.*'

of his little party, and led the way swiftly to-
wards the camp.

As the party drew near the camp they fell in
with the out-piquet on guard in that quarter,
consisting of one of the Delaware braves and
two of his men, to whom Wingenund entrusted
his Osage prisoners, adding, ** Give them water
and food, bat let them not escape."

The brave look full in the face of the youths
then his eye roved from the scalp at his belt to
the pinioned Osages, and a grim smile played
across his features ; but they almost instantly
relapsed into the grave and gloomy expression
that they had before worn ; not another word
was spoken, and the three passed on towards
the white tent. As they drew near, they saw
a group of hunters, among whom were Pierre
and Bearskin, sitting round a smouldering fire,
some smoking, and others engaged in mending
their moccasins or cleaning their pistols and
rifles. There was neither joke nor song amongst
them ; and although they started up to welcome
their i^cued and returning friends, the latter
perceived that something was wrong, and it
was with aching and foreboding hearts that
they returned the friendly greeting, and passed
onward towards the tent, before which they
saw Reginald and Baptiste in earnest conver-
sation.

Reginald no sooner saw them, than he sprang
forw^ to embrace Ethelston, exclaiming, " God
be praised for this great and unexpected com-
fort !*' " ^

Ifthelston looked in his friend's face ; and its
expression confirming his apprehensions, his
lip grew pale and trembled ; he gasped for
breath, as, pressing Reginald's hand within his
own, he said, ** Speak — speak ! tell me what has
happened ?" then pointing to the tent, he added,
*' Is she safe 1 — is she well 1"

** She is safe — she is well !" replied Reginald ;
" Nevertheless—"

Ethelston heard no more, but a deep groan
relieved the oppression of his heart, as he ejac-
ulated, ** Blessed be the God of Mercies !'' and
covering his face with his hands, stood for a
moment in silence.

Reginald was surprised at this extraordinary
emotion in his friend, usually so composed and
calm, and at the deep interest that he took ii
one whom, although betrothed to his intended
brother-in-law, he had not yet seen. But he
added, gravely, ** God knows, my dear friend,
that my gratitude is not less fervent than yours.
Precious as her life is, it has however been ran-
somed at a price dearer to me than aught else
on earth besides herself Wingenund," he
continued, addressing the youth and affection-
ately taking his hand, ** you are the son of a
race of heroes ; is your heart firm 1 are you
prepared to so^r the griefs that the Great
Spirit thinks fit to send t"

The youth raised his dark eyes to the speak-
er's face ; and subduing by a powerful effort
the prescient agony of his soul, he said in 9
low tone, " Let Netis speak on ; the ears or
Wingenund are ready to hear what the Great
Spirit has sent."

" Dear Wingenund, alas ! War-Eagle, our b»
loved brother is — "

*<Dead!" interrupted the youth letting thP
butt of his rifle fall heavily to the ground.

186

IRE PRAIRIE- BIRD.

** Nay, net yet dead, perhaps worse than dead ;
for be is hurt beyond all hope of cure, yet suf-
fers torture such as none but himself could en-
tire without complaint."

It was fearful for those who stoodl by to
•witness the agonising struggle of emotions that
convulsed the frame of the young Delaware
on receiving this announcement ; for War-Ea-
gle had been to him not only a brother, but
father, companion, and friend, the object on
whom all the affections of his young heart had
been concentrated with an intensity almost
idolatrous ; yet even in the extremity of an-
fguish he forgot not the rude yet high philoso-
phy of his race and nature ; he could not bear
that any human eye should witness his weak-
ness, or that any white man should be able to
say that Wingenund, the last of the race of
Taroenund, had succumbed to suffering. Ter-
rible was the internal Qonflict; and while it
was yet uncertain how it might end, his hand
accidentally rested upon his belt, and his fingers
elosed upon the scalp of M^^ga ; instantly, as
if by magic, the grief of the loving brother was
crushed by the stoic pride of the Indian war-
rior.

" War-Eagle is not dead ; his eyes shall look
upon the scalp of his great ene^ slain by the
hand which he first taught to use a bow ; and
when he goes to the hunting-fields of the brave,
our fathers may ask him, * Where is the scalp
of the destroyer of our race V " Such were the
thoughts that shot like wild-fire through the
brain and through the breast of the young Dela-
ware, as, with a countenance almost haughty in
its expression, he drew up bis graceful form to
its full height, saying, " Where is War-Eagle 1
Wingenund would see him. Let the Black
Father go too ; perhaps his healing skill might
avail."

" I will not deceive you, dear Wingenund ; no
human skill can avail our departing friend. He
is now within the tent; Prairie-bird watched
With him all the night ; she spoke to him often
words from God*s^ own book, and they seemed
to comfort him, for he smiled, and said he would
gladly hear more. She has retired to take a few
hours' sleep, then she will return and resume
her sad but endearing task."

" Wingenund will go to him ; but first let No-
tts say whence the wounds of War-Eagle came.
Have enemies been near the camp 1"

With the eloquence of deep feeling Reginald
briefly related the circumstances attending War-
Eaflle's devoted and heroic defence of Prairie-
bird from the bears.

Ethelston and Paul Milller listened with sus-
pended breath, and as he concluded exclaimed
together, ** Noble, brave, and generous War-
Eagle !" while the youth, pressing his lips to-
gether as if steeling his breast against softer
impressions, said, in a low tone, ** Twas w^l
done ; few are the warriors whose single knife
has reached the heart of a grisly bear. Let us
go on to the tent*'

Reginald led the way, and, lifting the flap, en-
tered, followed by Ethelston, Wingenund, and
Paul Muller.

The chief was seated in the centre, propped
by bales of cloth and fur ; his sunken eye was
closed from sleeplessness and exhaustion, and
a blanket loosely thrown over his shoulders,

covered the emaciated remains of his ODoe
powerful and athletic frame. At his side lay
his favourite pipe, his war-dub, knife, and rifle ;
while the iaitbful Lita, stretched at his feet,
strove in vain to restore their natural wanntb«
by applying to them hot stones enveloped in the
shreds of a blanket, which she had torn up for
the purpose. The entrance of the party was
not unmarked by the wounded chief, and a smila
passed over his wasted features when he ua»
closed his eyes, and recognised Wingenund and
the two others whom he had rescued from the
Crows.

'* The Black Father is welcome,'* he said, m
a faint but cheerful voice, " and so is the friend
of Netis ; and^ar-Eagle is glad to see the face
of his brother Wingenund."

We have seen how the youth had, by a des-
perate effort, nerved himself to bear, without
giving way, the description of his brother's
wounds and hopeless condition ; yet, when the
feeble tones of that loved voice thrilled upon his
ear, when his eye fell upon the wasted frame,
and when he saw written upon that noble coun-
tenance proofs not to be mistaken, of torture
endured, and death approaching, the string
which had refused to be relaxed started asun
der, and be fell senseless to the ground, while a
stream of blood gushed fr<)m his mouth.

Half-raising himself by the aid of his yet un-
wounded arm, War-Eagle made a vain effort to
move towards his young brother, and his eye
shone with something of its former eager lustre,
as he said, in a voice louder than he was deena
ed capable of uttering, " Let the Black Father
lend his aid and skiU to the youth ; he is the
last leaf on the Un4mi branch ; dear is his blood
to the Lenap6."

" Dearer to none than to me," said the Mis-
sionary, raising and supporting the unconscious
youth, " for to, him I owe my liberty, perhaps
my life. 'Tis only the rupture of a small blood-
vessel ; fear not for him, my brave friend, he
will soon be better."

While Paul Muller, assisted by one of the
Deia wares who stood at the entrance of the.
tent, carried the youth into the open air, and
employed the restoratives which his experience
suggested, the chief mused upon the words
which he had last heard, and inquired, address-
ing himself to Reginald, " What said the Black
Father of his life and liberty being given by
Wingenund 1"

** Tell the Chief, Ethdston, what has befalleo,
and how^you and Paul MiilJer were rescued by
Wingenund. In my deep anxiety for my suffer-
ing friend, I was satisfied with seeing that you
had returned in safety, and nev^ inquired how
you escaped."

Ethelston drew near to the wounded chief, 8(»
that he might distinctly hear every syllable spo-
ken, and said, ** War-Eagle, as surely as Prairie-
bird owes her life and safety to your devoted
courage, so surely do the Father and I owe our
lives and liberty to that of Wingenund. Can
you listen now, and follow me while I teU yoa
all that has happened]"

The chief gave a silent dod of assent, and
Ethelston proceeded, in the simple language of
true feeling, to relate to him the events record*
ed in the last chapter. At the commencement
of the narrative the chief, expecting, probably.

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

187

fiist the eseape had been effected by some sue-
cMsful disguise or stratagem, closed his eyes,
as if of^essed by the torturing pains that shot
through his frame; but he opened them with
awakened interest when the scene of the couti-
eil waa described, and at the mention of Mah^>
ga'8 name be ejaculated "Ha!'* his counte-
naooe assumed a fierce expression, and his hand
UDConscioasly grasped the war-club that lay be-
aide him.

Reginald listened with deep interest, and even
lita, who had hitherto appeared insensible to
OTery thing except the sufferings of her beloved
lord, threw back the long hair from her eyelk,
marrelling what this mi^t be that so excited
and revived him ; but whpn Ethelston nriated
the catastrophe, bow Mah^ga had thrown his
dab, slightly grazing the youth, and how the
latter had, in presence of the assembled CrowSj
killed and scalped the great Osage, the breast
of the Delaware warrior heaved with proud
emotions, which quelled for the moment all
sense of the pains that racked his frame; his
eye lightened with the fire of other days, and,
waving the war-club over his bead, he shouted,
for the last time, the war-cry of his tribe.

As the chief fell back exhausted upon his rude
piUow, the gentle voice of Prairie-bird was heard
from the adjoining compartment of the tent, call-
ing Lita to explain the meaning of the loud and
unexpected ciy by which she had been aroused
from her sliunber: Lita withdrew ; and, while
her mistress made her rapid and silent toilet,
informed her of the safe return of the Black
Father and Wingenund, and that the latter hav-
ing been seized with a sudden illness, the friend
of Reginald had remained by the chief, and had
communicated some intelligence, which seemed
to affect him with the most extravagant joy and'
excitement.

So anxious was the maiden to see her beloved
preceptor, and so hastily did she fold the kerchief
in the form of a turban round her head, that sev-
eral of her dark tresses escaped from teneath
it, and fell over her neok. The first dress that
came to her hand was one made from a deep-
blue Mexican shawl, of ample dimensions, given
to her by the Missionary. Fastening this round
her slender waist with an Indian girdle, and a
pur of moccasins upon her delicate f^t, she
went forth, catching up as she lefl the tent a
warf, which she threw carelessly over her
shouldera. Greeting War-E^agle hastily, but
alfectionaWy, as she passed, she flew with a
glowing cheek and beating heart to the spot
^vbere the Missionary still bent with anxious
solicitude over the reviving form of Wingenund.

**My father— my dear father !" she exclaim-
ed, seizing his hand ; " God be praised for thy
safe return •"

The venerable man embraced her tenderly,
>&d, after contemplating for a moment her coun-
tenance beaming with filial affection, he jHaced
h» outspread hands upon her head, saying, with
impressive solemnity, " May the blessing of God
rest upon thee, my beloved chrld, and upon all
tteat and dear to thee, for ever !'*

Prairie-bird bowed her head meekly while
'jathing a silent amen to the holy man's ben-
wiction, and then turned to inquire of heV yoimg
H^er how he now felt, and of Paul Mister in-
'•; he cause of Us sudden iUneM.

Wingenund was sufficiently recovered to
speak to her gratefully in reply, and to press
the hand which she held out to him, but he was
much reduced by loss of blood, and the Mission-
ary putting his finger to his lips enjoined him
quiet and silence for the present. He continu-
ed, however, in a low voice to explain tc her
the strange events that had lately occurred, and
how he and the friend of her betrothed owed to
the heroism of Wingenund their life and liberty.

While the maiden listened with absorbed at-
tention, every passage in the brief but eventful
tale was legible on her eloquent countenance.
As Reginald stood at a little distance gazing
earnestly upon its changeful loveliness, he was
startled by a suppressed ejaculation from some
one at his side, at the same time that his arm
wasaeized and pressed with almost convulsive
force. He turned and saw his friend Ethelston,
who, finding that War-Eagle had fallen into a
tranquil sleep, had stolen out of the tent to the
side of Reginald, where he firat caught a sight
of the maiden as she listened to the Missionary's
narrative. Reginald again observed with as-
tonishment that his friend, usually so caha,
trenibled from head to foot ; his eye rested up-
on the group with a preternatural fixedness, and
his lips moved inaudibly like those of a man
scarcely recovered from a trance. " Gracious
heaven ! what can have happened ! Edward,
you. are not surely ill ! that would indeed fill the
cup of our trials to the brim. Speak to me, let
me hear your voice, for your looks alarm me."

Ethelston made no reply, but he pointed with
his finger towards Prairie-bird,- and two or three
large tear-drops rolled down his cheek.

While this was passing, Paul MiiUer had
brought his tale to a conclusion, and his eye
happening to light upon Ethelston, he continu-
ed (still addressing Prairie-bird), " And now, my
dear <^ild, it only remains for me to tell you thr
cause of our beloved young brother's weakened
condition. The extremes of joy and of anguish
will sometimes sweep before them the mighti^
est bulwarks that can be raised in the heart of
man by bis own unaided strength. Wingenund
opposed to the stroke of affliction sent from on
high not the meek, trusting endurance of Chris*
tian resignation, but the haughty resistance of
human pride. Already he see^ and repents his
error, and the mist is clearing away from his
eyes ; but you, my dear child, have been better
taught ; you have learnt, in all trials and in all
emergencies, to throw youreelf upon the mercy
of your heavenly Father, and tq place youi
whole trust in His gracious promises of pro*
tection. We are more apt to forget this duty
when our cup overflows with joy than when hii
chastening hand is upon us ; but it should n(*
be so. Promise me, then, promise me, my be-
loved child, that in weal or in woe, in the rap-
ture of joy as in the extremity of sorrow, yo*
will strive to remember and practise it."

Awed by the unusual solemnity of his manner .
the maiden bowed her head, and said,. " I pro. ,
mise.

»»

Scarcely had she said these words whenRe^
inald came forward, leading his friend Ethelston,
who had by a strong eflfort recovered from his
extreme agitation, atid regained something of
his usual composure. " Prairie-bird," said Reg-
inald, " I wish to make known to You, my most

1

l88

THE PRAIBIE-BIttU;

C^khful companion, my tried and attached friend
EtheUton. You must love him now for my
Bake ; when yoa know him, you will do so for
his own own."

Leaning on the Missionary's arm, the maiden
I aised herself from her stooping posture to greet
the friend of her betrothed. "I have heard
much " she said, with her sweet natural dig-
nity of manner ; but she suddenly stopped, start-
ing as if she had seen agl^ost, and clinging closer
to Paul MuUer's arm) while her earnest gaze
encountered the eyes of Ethelston fixed upon her
with an expression that seemed to shake the
nerves and fibres of her heart. To Reginald
their silence and agitation was aii incomprehen-
sible mystery ; not so to tl^e Missionaiy, who
still supported Prairie-bird, and whispered to her
as she advanced a step nearer to the stranger,
" Your promise." She undierstood him, for be
heard her breathe the Almighty'^ name, as
Ethelston also advanced a step towards her;
and again thmr looks dwelt upon each other
with a fixed intensity that spoke of thoughts too
crowded, and confused, and mysterious for ex-
pression. At length Ethelston, whose strong
and well-balanced mind bad triumphed over the
first shock of emotion, addressed the maiden,
saying, " Have the latter years been so happily
spent that they have quite banished from the
. mind of Prairie-bird the memory of early days V*

At the spund of his voice the maiden started
as if she had received an electric shock ; her
bosom heaved with agitation, and her eyes fill-
ed with tears.

Again the Missionary whispered, " Your pro-
mise!" while Ethelston contifiued, "Has she
forgotten her own little garden with the sun-
diall and. poor Mary who nursed, and dressed,
and taught her to readi Has she forgotten the
great bible full of prints, of which she was so
food ; and the green lane that led to Mooshannel
Has Evy forgotten her Edward 1"

" *Tis he — 'tis he ! *tis Eddy ! my own, my
long-lost brother !" cried the maiden aloud, as
she threw herself into his arms ; and looking up
into his face, she felt his cheek as if to assure
herself that all was not a dream, and poured
put her grateful heart in tears upon his bosom.
She did remember her promise, and even in the
first tumult of her happiness, she sought and
derived from Him to whom she owed it,
strength to endure its sudden and overwhelm-
ing excess.

** *Tis eveui so,'' said the Missionary, grasp-
ing the astonished Reginald's arm, " for some
time I had suspected that such was the case ;
Prairie-bird, my beloved pupil, and your be-
trothed bride, is no other than Evelyn Ethel-
ston, the sister of your friend. My suspicions
were confirmed and almost reduced to certain-
ty, during the first conversations that I held
with him in St. Louis ; for he, being several
years older than you, remembered many of the
circumstances attending the disappearance and
supposed destruction of his little sister by the
Indians, when his father's house was ravaged
and. burnt. I foresaw that they must meet
when he left the settlements in search of you,
and though I prepared him for the interview, I
thought it better to say nothing to her or to you,
bat to leave the recognition to the powerful
▼oioe of Nature. You see the result in that fra-

ternal embrace, and I have in a little bag, given
to me by Tamenund, when at the point of death,
proofs of her identity that would convince m
sceptic, were you disposed to be one ; the cov-
er of a child's spelling book, in which her name
is written at length (possibly by Ethelston) and
a little kerchief with the initials E. E. in, the
corner, both of which were in her hand when
she was carried off by the Indians who spared
and preserved her !"

While the Missionaff felt beneath the fold*
of bis dark serge robe, for the bag which he had
always carefully kept suspended by a ribbon
from his neck, Reginald's memory was busy in
recalliiig a thousand indistinct recollections of
early 49yi») and in comparing them with those
of a iQore recent date.

** Wdldo I renlember," be exclaimed, *'mis8-
ing my sweet little playmate in childhood ! and
how all allusion to the terrible calamity that be-
fel our nearest neighbour and friend, was forbid
in our family ! Scarcely ever, even in later
years, have I^touched upon the subject with
Ethelston, for I saw that it gave him pain, and
brought a cloud over his brow. Now, I can
understand the wild and troubled expression
that came across her countenance when she
first saw me near the Osage camp, and first
heard my voice, and how she started, and after-
wards recovered herself^ when I told her of
Mooshanne ! How blind have I now been to
everything save her endearing qualities, and
the teii thousand graces that wait upon her an- .
gelic form ! See how like they are, now that
a tide of feeling is poured into the countenance
of my steady and composed friend ! Jealous
as I am of her time, and of every grain of her
afifection, I must not grudge them a few mi&*
utes of undist^irbed intercourse after a separa-
tion of so many years ! Come, worthy Father,
let us employ ourselves in tending s^nd minis-
tering to War-Eagle and Wingenund, and let
us not forget that to them, next to Heaven, we
are indebted for the life and happiness of every
single member of our miraculously re-united
circle.**

" You have a warm and a kindly heart, my
young friend," said the Missfonary, '* and that
is a blessing without which all the ether bless*
ings of Heaven may fall like showers upon the
Lybian desert. I know how you must long to
pour out your feelings of afifection on this occa-
sion to your friend, and to your betrothed ; but,
believe me, you will not have done amiss by
following the first promptings of yonr heart.
Let us, as you propose, endeavour to soothe and
comfort the sufferers. Wingenund is now sof-
ficiently recovered to listen while you relate to
him these strange occurrences; only caution
him not to speak too much at present. I will
return to the Bidti of War* Eagle, and although
it be too late now for us to attempt any remedy
for his bodily pains, who shall limit the power
of the Almighty, or circumscribe the operation
of his hand^ 1 Who knows whether He may
not think fit, even at the eleventh hour, to. touch
that stern and obdurate heart with a conl from
his altar 1 And, oh ! my dear young friend, if
such be his blessed purpose, I would not forego
the privilege of being the humble instrument in
effecting it, for all the wealth, the honours, t||tt
ha;;>pme8s, that earth can bestow."

THE PRAIRIE^BIRD.

189

^ — >■% •« '

;';;;J[fegliiald looked after the worthy Missionary
'w^tu'he disappeared within the teat; then, sigh-
ing Iteavily, he said to hiiasetf, " If zeal, hon-
esty, and true piety can render any human
means available, assuredly that excellent and
holy man's attempt will not be made in vain ;
and yet I fear that nothing short of a miracle
ean, soften or subdue the stern *pride of War-
Eagle's spirit. How deeply anxious do I feel
for the issue ! for I cannot forget that it was in
defence of Prairie-bird that he incurred this fear-
ful torture, ending in an untimely death ! His
life sacrificed that mine might be happy with
her ! Where, where, my generous Indian broth-
er, shall I find, among the cities and crowded
haunts of civilized men, truth, self-denial, and
deyoted afection like thine! At least I'wiU
strive to fulfil the wish that I know to be near-
est thy heart, by cherishing in my bosom's core
thy beloved brother Wingenund !"

Thus meditating, Reginald sat down by the
young Delaware, and strove, by awakening his
interest in the strange events lately brought to
light respecting Prairie-bird, to wean him from
the deep dejection caused by his brother's hope-
less plight.

• CHAPTER XLV.

OoBtainhig a treaty between the Crowi and Delawaxea,
and tbe death of an Indian chief.

It is unnecessary to describe at length the
occupations of the party during the remainder of
this eventfid day; how the r^-united brother
and sister called up a thousand long-stored, en-
dearing remembrances ; how they looked upon
the childish relics preserved by the Missionary ;
and how, after interchanging a rapid but inter-
esting sketch of each other's history, they turn-
ed again to share with him and with Reginald
the melancholy and affecting duty of attending
upon the dying chieftain. His sufferings were
How less acute, but mortification had extended
itself rapidly, and threatened hourly to terminate
them altogether, by seizing upon the vitals. His
mind seemed tranquil and coUected as ever, only
the watchful Missionary, observing that he lis-
tened more attentively to the voice of Prairie-
bird than to any other, he yielded his place be-
side the dying man to her, entreating her to, spare
no efl^rts that might lead him, by the appointed
path, to the Fountain of Mercy.

Willingly did the maiden resume the task on
which she had been employed during the greater
part of the preceding night ; and after praying
fervently for a blessing on her labours, she pro-
ceeded to explain to him again, in his own lan-
guage, some of the simplest and most afiTecting
truths of the gospel dispensation.

What an interesting spectacle for the con-
templation of a Christian philosopher ! A hea-
then warrior, whose youth had been matured
with tale§ of fierce reprisal and revenge, whose
path in life had been marked with blood, war
being at once his pleasure and his pride, stretch-
ed now upon the ground, still in the prime of
manhood, yet with shortening -breath and ebb-'
ing strength, listening with deep attention to
the words of hope and consolatipn pronounced
hy the lips of her who J»ad been, through life, the
secretly treasured idol of his heart. Perhaps

this earthly love, purified as it had long been
from passidn, and enQobled by the sacrifice that
he had made to friendship, was the channel
through which the mysterious influences of the
Bivjne Spirit were appointed to flow ; for hii
eager ear lost not a word of what she uttered,
and his heart was softened to receive from her
lips truths against which, if delivered by anoth-
er, its early prejudices might have rebelled.

Partly by the religious creed of his race, and.
partly by former conversations with herself and
the JVIissionary, he was already impressed with
a just view of the principal attributes of Deity —
his omnipotence, goodness, and eternity. The
chief endeavour of Prairie- bird was now to con
vince hiin that the Qod of the Christians ad-
dressed the same word, the same promises and
invitations, to the Indians as to them, and that
th^ also were included in the vast and myste-
rious scheme of redemption ; for this purpose
she translated for him, into the Delaware tongue,
some of those magnificent passages in Isaiah
wherein the Amighty, after declaring this unity
and irresistible power, sends forth his gracious
promises to the uttennost parts of the earth, to
the isles, to the wilderness, to the inhabitants of
the mountains, and those that dwell among the
rocks, and concludes with the assurance, **^I
will bring the blind by a way that they knew not ;
I will lead them in paths that they have not
known. I will make darkness light before them,
and crooked things straight ; these things will
I do unto them, and npt forsake them."

War-Eagle listened attentively, and gave the
whole strength of his mind to the consideration
of the subject propounded ; some of these truths
he had heard before, but they bad taken no fixed
root, and had rather been dismissed unheeded,
than weighed and rejected. Now they present
ed themselves under a very different aspect;
for they were pressed upon him with the most
affectionate earnestness, by the one whom he
looked up to as the most gifted and the most
guileless of human beings ; and the Black Fa-
ther also, for whom he entertained the highest
esteem and regard, had told him repeatedly that
every truth, ever3rthing necessary for happiness
after death, was written in that book from ^hich
she was now reading ; that it was, in short, the
written command of Him whom he had from
his youth addressed as the Great Spirit.

Deeply moved by these reflections (aided as
they may perhaps have been by the operations
of a mightier influence), the chief propounded to
his young instructress several inquiries, which
it rejoiced her to hear, as they indicated a soft-
ened and teachable spirit. Neither were they
difficult for her to answer, as she was familiar
with almost every page of the volume before
her, and thus knew where to seek at once a so*
lution of every doubt and difficulty that occurred
to her simple-minded and ingenuous patient.

While she was engaged in this interesting and
truly Christian task, Reginald, Ethelston, and
the Missionary sate with Wingenund, and strove
to soothe and tranquillise the agitation into
which the late disaster had thrown him. Al-
though somewhat weakened by loss of blood,
he had recovered his faculties both of body and
mind ; but all the well-meant endeavours of Us
fnends td raise him from the deep depression of
spirits into 'which he had fallen were exerted is

190

IF HE P^iiiil^IE-SIiRD.

Tain. He replied gently, and^witibout petelanoe,
to various questions that tbey put' to him, and
then sank again into desponding glooin,;inusiag
over the fading fortunes of his family and of his
tribe — no vr about to lose iiira who wasthe pride,
the su()port, and the glory of both.

Ailer several unsuccessful attempts, Ethel-
tton touched at length upon a topic which had
In some degree the effect of arresting his atten-
* tion and engaging the more active powers of
his mind ; for on reminding the youth that the
Crows were to visit the camp on the morrow
to interchange presents and conclude the treaty
of peace, Wingenund proposed to Reginald
that he should summon Baptiste and Pierre,
and concert, with their advice, the course that
It might be advisable to pursue.

While they were employed in oonsidering
and discussing deliberately the various plans
proposed, Paul MuUer and Praurie-bird continu-
ed sometimes together, and sometimes alter-
nately, their attendance upon War-Ea^e, whose
strength was rapidly declining, although bia in-
tellect remained clear and unimpaired. Food
he was unable to taste ; but the grateful amile
wfth which he received now and then a cup of
water from the hand of Prairie-bird touched her
sensibly; and there was a serene eompoeore
apon his countenance, which encouraged her to
hope that his mind was in a peaceful frame, and
that thoughts of war and strife were gradually
giving (dace to better and holier meditations.

The sun went down, evening fell, and the
darkening hours of night found the maiden still
unweari^ at her post, seizing, with instinctive
tact, every opportunity offered by his inquiries
or remarks for quoting to him from the Book of
L4fe some appropriate and consoling truth ; nor
did she retire to rest until she felt assured that
exhausted nature had extended the boon of
slumber to her suffering patient.

Not even then did the faithful Lita quit the
place that she had chosen at the <eet of the
warrior whom she had so long w<»rshipped in se-
cret ; noticed or unnoticed, thanked or unt||iank>
ed, whether hungry, or thirsty, or sleepless, all
was the same to her. In life her love had been
either unknown or despised ; and now the last
faint glimmerings of hope were to be extinguish-
ed, without even the wretched consolation of
pity. During the watches of that night there
were tears upon the pillow of Prairie-bird ; the
eyes of Wingenund were sleepless, and his
beart loaded with sorrow. Sharp and frequent
were the pangs and shooting^pains that broke
the rest of the departing Chief; yet was there,
. perhaps, none amongst them all whose siUfer-
ings were not light in eomparison with the si-
lent and hopeless anguisli of the Comanohe
girl.

The morning dawned with all the fresh beau-
ty of summer in that mountain region; and,
agreeably to the resolution formed at the coun-
cil held on the preceding eveiiing, the whole
party waa summoned to parade with their best
arms and aecoutrementSrSO as to produce upon
the Indians a due impression of their formida-
Me strength, at the same time that various
hales were unpacked, from which were select-
ed the presents intended for the principal chiefs
and braves.
No great ehangeiiad taken place in tbe state

of War-£agle, but WiBgenund had i^ot an
ihtmr with him alone; during which, among
other subjftcts of greateir importance, he had
mentioned the expected visit ofthe Crows, and
the conditions of the treaty which it was pro-
posed to make with them. To these the Chief
had given bis assent, and had deputed his young
brother to act in his stead ; after which he
turned again with renewed eagerness and anxi-
ety to the subjects suggested to him by Prairie-
hird and the Missionary.

The sun was not very high in the heaveiH
when the band of Crows were seen descending
the hill towards the encampment. They were
led by WhiterBuU, accompanied by Besha, and
were only twelve in number, all magnificently
dafl in dresses of deer-^kin, ornamented with
coloured feathers, stained quills, scalp-locks,
and the other adjuncts of Crow chivalry. Be
sha apologised for the scantiness of the deputa
tion, stating, that during the past night an at-
tempt had been made by tl.e Blackfeet to re»-
cue their prisoners ; and although it had not
been successful, the Crows could not venture,
in the neighbourhood of such dangerous foes,
to weaken the defence of their camp, by send-
ing away a large body of its best warriors. To
this a suitable and comj^imentary reply having
been made, the business of the day commenced
by presenting food to the Upsaroka guests.

A circle luiving been made, the white hunl-
ers were ranged on one sMe of it, and the Del-
awares on the other, the formi^r being all armed
with rifles and pistols, and hunting-knives, pre-
sented a very warlike appearance ; while the
sinewy and weather-beaten frames of the lat-
ter, anned as they were with rifle, war-eiub,
and scalp-knife, inspired the observant leader of
the Crows with no wish to bring his band into
.hostile collision with such a party. In the cen-
tre were seated Reginald Brandon, Wingenund,
and Ethelston, Pierre having taken his place
near the latter, and Baptiste occupying his
usual station beside bis young master, and
leaning upon his enormous hatchet. If the in-
tentions of White-Bull were treacherous, he
found no greater encouragement to his hopes
from a survey of the leaders, men of powerful
form, and grave, determined aspect, with the
exception of Wingenund, whose youth and
slight figure might bav&led a stranger to fear
him less as an opponent. He had, however,
given such proof of his skill, courage, and ac*
tivity in Indian warfare, that the Crows did not
look upon him with less respect than upon the
more experienced men by whom he was sur-
rounded.

When the Up^^aroka deputation had finished
the portion of bison-meat set before them, Re-
ginald gave them a treat, such as they had nev-
er before enjoyed, in the shape of a tin-cup full
of coffee, sweetened with sugar, which they
passed round, and tasted at first with some re-
luctance, owing to its dark colour, taking it for
"Great Medicine." After sipping it once or j
twice, however, they seemed to find it more ;
palatable, and drank all that was offered to
them, and then the pipe was lighted and smoked i
with due solemnity.

When these preluninaries were concluded,
the business of the day was entered upon, and
was conducted, with eqpud caution and distrust

\

THE PRd.lRI£-BIBD.

IftI

•D Doth sides ; Besba being, of course, the in- 1 No sooner was the Imsiaess concluded than
tAmrnter. &nd monldinir the resiMfitive comitau. 1 the presents were brou|[ht forth, and distributed

according to the terms prescribed, Reginald add-

terpreter, and moulding the respective commu
Dications in the manner most likely, according
to his views, to ensure the continuance of the
truce agreed upon ; because he had been most
^^inetiy warned by Wingenund, that he would
receive no present until all the terms of the
treaty were duly 'fulfilled, and that then he
might expect one liberal enough to adorn the
wigwam of a chief The crafty horse-dealer
had, at the same time, .contrived to persuade
the Crow^ that the white men were secretly
disinclined to the treaty, and that they could
only be induced to observe it by his own cun-
ning and contrivance.

Thi» being the relative position of the par-
ties, it may well be imagined that the diplomat-
ie arrangemients were neither very long nor
difficult, and it was finally agreed that the
Crows should, when called upon, supply the
party with a trusty guide, who should lead them
eastward by the route on which they would
find the easiest travelling and the best supply
of bison ; that an alliance for mutual defence
should exist between the parties so loihg as they

were within the boundaries of the Crow coun- without delay.

ing for the chief a hair-brush, in the back of
which a smsdl mirror was set. Never had such
a curiosity been seen in the Crow country, and
White-Bull turned it over and over in his hand,
contemplating it and himself in it, with undis-
guised satisfaction, while Pierre whispered to
Baptiste, <* if Madame Bending-willow is in fa-
vour, she will have it before to-morrow !"

The Crows now took their leave, amid many
protestations of friendship on both sides, and
returned with all speed towards their own en-
campment, White-Bull's mind being divided be-
tween delight at the possession of his brush, and
dread at the mysterious dangers he might have
incurred by putting his mark upon the white-
man's paper.

The departure of their wild alUes left the par-
ty at the camp leisure to return to their ordina-
ry avocations, and to the sad recpUeotion of
their Chiefs condition ; indeed, a very short
time elapsed before he sent a message by Paul
MuUer desiring that they would all come to him

try, but that they should never' encamp nearer
to each other than at a distance of twice the
long-flight of an arrow ; that so soon as they
should emerge from the defiles of the^ moun-
tains, the Crows should supply their allies with
twenty horses, some of those which they had
brought from the settlements being travel-worn
and exhausted ; and that Besha was to have
free Ibave to come and go from one encamp-
ment to the other at all hours of the day or
night, in the event of any communication being
necessary.

The allied band agreed, in considerafion of
the above conditions, to present the Crows
with a certain number of bales of cloth, a score
of blankets, and an ample supply of beads,
paint, and knives ; one-third of the amount to
be paid on the delivery of the horses, and the
remainder when the parties separated on the
Great I^airie, at the eastern ooujadary of the
Upsaroka country.

These terms having been written down by
Reginald, he read them slowly one afler the
other, Wingenund repeating them to Besha, and
ne again translating them to White-Boll, who
nodded his approbation as they were succes-
sively recapitulated, after which Reginald and
Ethelston having signed their names in* pencil,
desired Besha and White-Bull to affix their mark.
The former did so without hesitation, but the
latter made all kinds of excuses, and looked ex-
tremely puzzled, whispering bis doubts and fears
to his interpreter, who, being a reckless fellow,
and, having seen more of the world, could
scarce forbear laughing in his face.

In truth the Crow chief, though brave and
daring in the field, was not above the supersti-
tions current in his tribe, and he entertained a
kind of vague notion that, by potting his mark
upon the paper, he brought himself under the
power of the white-man's medicine.

Nevertheless, he was at length persuaded, and
drew upon the paper, with a band not unskilful^
the broad forehead and pr9Jecting horns of a bi-
son's head, which design represented' his i)oi^
seat to the treaty.

The tone of deep, yet composed sadness, in
which it wad delivered, announced to most of
those who heard it that War-£agie was draw-
ing near to his end ; and Reginald, passing his
arm within that of Wingenund, whispered to
him as he went such words of sympatny as he
thought most like to soothe and console him.

" Dear Netis," replied the youth, in a tone
of the deepest melancholy, "ydU are very good,
but there is no happiness more for Winge
nund I"

" Say not so, my young brother ; you are still
in the early spring of life, and I hope, when
these present sorrows are past, you will yet en-
joy a long and happy- day of summer."

" Wingenund's spifog and summer are both
gone ! but he does not complain ; it is the will
of the Great Spirit, and Wingenund knows that
what He does is right."

As he said these words they reached the tent,
and the day being extremely fine the poles of
that compartment were taken up, and the can-
vass folded back, at the request of the Chief,
that he might once more look upon the sun,
and feel the fresh mountain breeze upon his
cheek.

Lita had retired into the inner tent, and Prai-
rie-bird was seated at his side, a cup of water
being the only source of relief to which she from
time to time had recourse to cool his lips and
recruit his ebbing strength.

The whole party being gathered round him,
Wingenund, Reginald, and Ethelston somewhat
in advance of the rest, he addressed the former
in a low but distinct voice, saying, " War-Eagle
is going on the dark path, from which he will
pot return ; Wingenund will be the chief of the
Lenape band ; has he anything to say while
War-Eagle is yet Chief 1"

" He has," replied the youth in a voice trem-
ulous from emotion ; *' a treaty has been made
with the Upsaroka, does War-Eagle think it
good 1" He then proceeded to enumerate its
several terms apd conditions.

" It is good," said the Chief, after a few mo-
ments r^eotioB ; ** only let Netis and Wij^ge

198

THJS PRAIRIE-BIRD.

bund remember that the Upsaroka are double-
toDgued ; they hate the Blackfeet, and will be
glad to spend my brother's powder and blood
in destroying their enemies. Let my brothers
keep near the home-path, and not wander from
it to please the Upsaroka. Is there more that
'my brother wishes to «ay 1"

"There is my brother. Here are the foar
Osage captives taken among the Upsaroka.
Their deeds of blood are known to War-Eagle ;
let him say what shi^^ be done with them." ,

** Let them stand forward," said the Chief,
raising himself with difficulty from the blanket-
cushion against which he had been reclining.

They were aecordin^y brought to the front
of the circle, and stood awaiting their doom
with the fierce determined air 4)f warriors who
knew and feared it not. The eldest among
them was a fine powerful man, who bore about
him the marks of many a fray, and had been
one of the leading braves who followed the for-
tunes of Mah^ga. He it was who acted as
spokesman in the dialogue that ensued.

War-Eagle. "Have the Washashe anything
to say that their lives should not be given to
the slow fire 1"

Osage, " The warriors of the Washashe talk
with their hands, when their hands are not tied.
They are not famous for their tongues."

W. "Yet with their tongues they spoke
smooth words to the Lenap^ ; they called them
brother ; they ate, hunted, fought, and smoked
with them< and then joined the Dahcotahs, to
kill the women and children of their friends. If
the tongues of the Washashe are not famous,
they are forked."

O. " Mah^ga was the war-chief of his tribe ;
when he went upon the war-path, the Washashe
followed. He is gone to the hunting-fields of
the braves, and they are not afraid to (oUow
him. When War-Eagle took his rifle and his
club, and went out upocPthe war-path by night,
bis wantors followed in silence. Who among
them sa; i, * Where does War-Eagle go V

W. " "^ar-Eagle never raised his rifle at a
friend ; he never called out his braves to bum
the wigwam of his brother ; there was never a
Bcalp of woman or c^ild taken by his hand.
When he struck, it was at an open foe, or to
•ave or avenge a friend," he added, in a subdu-
ed tone ; " and yet there is too much blood on
the hands of War-Eagle ; 'the Great Spirit is
angry with him for it."

The Osage made no reply. The Missionary
interchange a whispered word with Prairie-
bird, and the chief continued, addressing chiefly
the Delawares in their own language. "My
brothers, we often pray to the Great Spirit to
forgive what we have done that is wrong. The
Black Father and Olitipa have told War-Eagle
the answer that He gives ; it is written in the
great book, in which there are no lies, *The
Great Spirit will forgive us, if we forgive our
brother ; if we refuse to forgive our brother, the
Great Spirit will refuse to forgive us.* War-
Eagle has done many things wrong ; he hopes
the Great Spirit will forgive him. Shall he now
kill the Washashe 1" He then turned to the
prisoners, and said, **Let their bands be cut,
and let them return to their own people to tell
them that the Lenape hurt not women nor chil-
dren, nor men^wfaoae hands are tied.' Olitip^

has read fVom the book, that such is the will of
the Great Spirit, whom the white men call by
the name of God, and the heart of War-£agle
tells him.that it is true."

It is doubtful whether this speech caused
greater surprise among his own followers, or
among the Osages whom it restored to life and
liberty. Both, however, h^rd it with th& ab-
sence of outward emotion which characterizes
the red-skin race in North America ; so that
Ethelston, who did not understand a word of
the Delaware tongue, was perfectly unconscious
of anything having been said that might materi-
ally affect the fortunes of the prisoners ; and he
was in momentary expectation of seeing them
led away to suffer, according to the lawd of In
dian retribution, the deserved penalty of ther
cruelty and treachery. ^

While Pierre was informing htm of what haor
occurred, the Osage spokesman resolved appa
reatly to try the patience of the expiring Chiel
to the uttermost, and said to him, with a sneer,
" War-Eagle is very good to the Washashe ; he
knows that they have neither food nor arms ;
there is ^ not one knife among the four. They
are among the mountains, a whole moon's jour-
ney from their village, surrounded by war-par-
ties of the Upsaroka and Blackfeet, and on their
return-path must pass the hunting-grounds of
the Shlennes, the Kiowas, the P&nis, and the
Mahas. War-Eagle would rather that they were
starved, and their bones gnawed by the welves,
than /see them die like warriors, and laugh at
the Lenape in their death. *L

Paul Miiller looked anxiously at the Chief, to
mark what effect would be produced by this un-
grateful and intemperate speech ; anc his appre-
hensions were much relieved when he heard
War-Eagle reply, in a calm and unmoved tone,
" There is no wonder that the Washashe think
others are like themselves, false-hearted and
double-tongued. Had the Lenape intended that
the Washashe should be killed, they would have
spared the Upsaroka and the wolves the task.
War-Eagle intends that they should live to be
ashamed of their bad deeds. Wingenund will
see that they enter safely on the home-path.
Now let them go ; their words are bitter, and .
they can neither speak noi* believe the truth.
War-fcagle has no more time to waste with
them."

As he uttered this reproof in a contemptuous,
rather than an angry tone, the Chief fell back '
much exhausted upon his cushion, and the lead-
ing Osage was about to make some violent re-
ply, when Pierre, taking him by the arm, hur-
ried him and his companions to the outer edge
of the circle, saying to him, as he went, " Peace,
fool ! Is thy thick head so fond of trusting a .
Lenap6 tomahawk, that thou cast not hold thy
tongue, when thy saucy wagging of it might
cost thy life 1 Peace, I say, or, in spite of the
Chief's pardon, I will have thee and thy com-
rades tied down again like fresh caught colts."

Having spoken words to this effect to the
reckless and grumbling Osage, Pierre re-entered
the circle gathered round the Chief, and found,
on his return, that a general silence prevailed.
Wingenund was sitting upon the ground, close
to his brother, listening with the deepest atten-
tion to the injunctions and counsel which the
latter was delivering, in a voice that became

r

TUt PHAIRIE-BIRP

rrerymoment more feeble and.hidistinct. None
present coald orerhear what passed ; but, at
the conclosion, the two brothers sat for a few
seconds ia sUence, each pressing his clenched
hand upon the heart of the other, after which
Wingenund reared a few paces back, while the
Chief, collecting his remaining strength, said
aloud to his deroted followers, ** War-£ag1e is
going to the land where his fathers dwell ; he is
sotry to leave his brothers, but it is the will of
the Great Spurit, who is the Master of Life -*
and when He speaks, the Lenape are silent, and
obey. When War-£a^ is gone» it is bis wish
that Wingenund should bo chief of the band ;
the blood of Tameoand warms his heart, and
though he has not seen many summers, his eyes
bare not been shot, nor h^re his ears been
closed against the counsel of wise men. My
brothers, you have t^ care of a great treasure,
the care of Olitipa, the beloved daughter of
Tamenund, the sister who has cleared away the
doud that hid the sun (torn War-Eagle, and the
thorns that beset his path in the dark valley.
My brothers, let not one of you leave her until
•be is safe at the vihite man's boundary ; and if
you love War-Eagle, you will also love and obey
Wingenund, and Netis his adopted brother.**

A deep -suppressed murmur was the only re-
ply made by the gtootay warriors aA>ttnd ; but
War-£a^e knew its import, and read its con-
firmation on the determined countenances of
those who had so often followed him to strife
and victory.

The mortal agony was at hand, and the Chief,
feeling its approach, looked suddenly round as
if he missed some one who should be there ; his
atterance was scarcely articnlate, but Prairie-
bird caught the intended sound of Lita*s nalne,
and flying into the tent, speedily returned, bring-
ing with her the weeping girl. Again he con-
trif ed to make Prairie-bird understand his wish,
that an armlet of beads that he wore should be
taken off and hung round Lita's neck ; the Chief
smiled and said, **Lita has been faithful to
Olitipa and very good to War-Eagle ; the Great
Spirit will reward her.''

' The destroyer was now rapidly tightening bis
M coils round the vital organs, but the Chief
still retained sufficient strength to press the
hand of each of his sorrowing friends in suc-
cession against that generous heart which must
so soon cease to beat. Wingenund was jthe
last, and as he stooped over his brother, whis-
pered to him a word that reached the ear of
Prairie-bird, and while it richly rewarded her
(ioas and affectionate toil, lighted up at the same
time the countenance of the dying man with a

* In the greater nmnber of the Indian languages known
m Ae Nonfa American eootinent, the Sypreme Being is
dHlgnated by a name bearing one of the three foUov^
aiouificiitione :

1. "Great, or Good Spirit;*' such is the "Manitou,**
"Manitto,** ** Kitche-Manltou,** ttc, of the Delawares,
Ohlppewsys, BiJc^ Foctawatomis, and most of the AJgon-

.kttttribee.

2. "The Wonderf\il, or WenderfUl Spirit.** hy whieb
■ame He is. designated among moet of the tribes reiddent
on the banks of the Missouri : •; g. " Wahcondah** by the
3loes and Omahaws, " Wahcatnnea** by the Dahcotahs,
** Ma-napkApa** by the M ianetareeA, kc,

3. " Master of Life,** which is the signification of the
name by wliich the Almighty Is recognised among; the
Fftwnees, muA many odier numerous and powerful tribes.
Thesttbject it tM ^omptAmuOvt to be mere than briefly
iUotedtolnthtaplafle. 1

N

smile of trtomph that bid defiance to the pangs
of the grisly King of Terms. From the time
that he received his fttal wounds, not a groan
nor murmur of complaint had escaped him, and
when he resigned his parting Inreath, it was with
the peaceful tranqnilUty of childhood falling
asleep.

*< My children," said the Missionary, solemn-
ly, " War-Eagle, the son of Tamenund. is no
more 1 In life none walked more uprightly than
he, according to the light that was given to himt
He gave up nis life to save that ofanotker, and
aAer enduring grievotis pains with the heroism
of an Indian warrior, he coed with a full hope and
trust in the redeeming mercy of his God. Teaoe
be with his soul ; and may we all rejoin him
nereafler in the land where sqiaratioii and sor-
row will be unknown f*

CHAFTEai XLVI.

War^Eaffle*s PnneraL— The Party Cfimw t Pfe fbeh'
ward Jonrney. — Beslia exerts his diplomatie Talents ftr

" Bet "

the last Time, and reeeivM seteral Beivards, with
cf which he would wiUiagly have dispsnssd

It may well be Imagined what a gloom was
east over the whole party by the death of fte
Delaware leader: not only among these who,
like Re6;ina|d, Wingenund, and f^rairie-bird,
mourned for him as for a departed brother, bnt
even among the rough hunters and woodsmen,
to whom he had endeared himself no less by his
dauntless coarage than by a thousand acts of
kindness and generosity. As fen: his own tmstgr
Lenape warriors, their spirit seemed entirely
broken ; too proud to weep or lament, they
walked to and fW> by the spot where his remains
still rested, casting upon the dark cloth by which
thev were covered desponding and mdandioly
looks ; and when Baptiste, whom they esteemed
as the lonff-tried friend of their late Chief, tried
to offer a lew words of consolation, hinting also
at the virtues and qualities of the surviving
brother, they shook their heads and returned to
cherish their grief, like the wife of Phfioehas,
who, when she heard that her husband and her
iather-in-law were dead, and the Ark captured,
regarded not the consolation of her new-bom
child, bnt called it Ichabod, saying '' The glory
is departed from IsraeL**

"Ethelston," said Reginald to his friend,
"methinks the sooner we strike our camp ana
move from this sad spot the better; it is neces-
sary, fh)m the progress that mortmcation has
made in the frame of our lamented friend,'^that
he should be buried immediately. Let us speak
to Wingenund, and see whether he wishes it
performed according to our customs or accord-
mg to those of his o¥m people; fet in this we
ought not to dictate to him.**

Having joined the yooth, whom they found
standing in an attitude of dejection at no mat
distance, Reginald, affter a fbw words of kindly
sympathy, proposed to him the subject under
discussion. To the surprise of both, Hxey found
him quite prepared for it. "Yes,*' he said;
" War-Eagle said to Wingenund what he wish-
ed, and it shall be done this day. First let us
obey his commands about the Washashe ; let
them oe called before the tent, and let the hnn^
ers and the Leoap^ be summoned joo."

This was soon done, and ^tfae party being as-
sembled, the Osages were oticfs more bronghl
forwaid, their Jlmbs having been freed from thi

m

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

Jiongs by which they had been boahd ; and the
general stock of meat fresh as well as dried,
was also, by desire of Wingenund, placed be-
fore the tent These preliminaries being com-
pleted, the young chief addressed them as fol-
lows: " Washashe, it is known to you that
War-Eagle, forgiving yonr bad deeds, gave you
your lives— the Lenap6 respect the wishes of
their great Chiefl and will not send you away
with empty hands/' He then desired that a
iair proportion of meat, a rifle, with a reason-
able supply of ammunition, a knife, and a small
package of Indian presents shoula be given to
each of the Osages. These orders having been
punctually, though reluctantly, obeyed by one
of the Delaware warriors, Wingenund contin-
ued, " if the Washashe fear to enter upon the
jong home-path with so few men, they may
eamp under the shelter of the Lenap^ fires—
they cannot be called brothers, but no harm shall
be done to them."

"The "Washashe," replied the powerful In-
who has before been mentioned as the
esman of the Osages, and who now grasped
restored rifle with an air of fierce exultation,
'* the Washashe have no fear— Aey will go upon
the path alone — they will not dwell a night bv
the fires of the Lenap^ camp. Wingenund is
a joune chief, and the Lenape need not be
ashamed when they speak his name ; his words
and his years are few, but his deeds will be told
where the council of warriors meet. His hand
is open, but it is red with the blood of their
great chief; the Washashe thank him, but they
cannot call the Lenap6 brothers. The Washa-
she have no more to say; before the night falls,
their feet will be far on the homeward path."

So saying, thq^ grim warrior stalked aws^y
with his three companions, the assembled party
looking afler them in silence, until their K)rms
were lost behind a rock that projected into the
valley.

" Proud and thankless scoundrels," muttered
Baptiste, half aloud, to the hunter who stood
nearest to him. ".Had my opinion been taken,
they should have been flogged with cow-hides
out of the camp, and they might have found
their way as they could to their cut-throat friends
the Dahcotahsl 'Twas always so with War-
Eagle, and will be the same with Wingenund !
When the skrimmage was over, and his blood
was cool, there was no more cruelty in his na-
tur* than there is in that of a Fhiladelphy Gtua-
ker."

Wingenund having spoken for a few minutes
with^ the Missionary, a party of half a dozen
men were desired hj the latter to dig a grave
*bK the deceased Chief under a scathed and pic-
mresque pine that stood alone on a small natu-
ral mound near the river. It was a spot that
seemed to have been framed by the hand of the
Creator for a sepulchre, rising as it did in the
centre of a wila and unfrequented vale, sur-
rounded on all sides by precipitous rocks, be-
yond which rose in the distance the snow-clad
summits of the gigantic mountain-range — the
Attest natural emblem of Eternity ; while, round
the base of the mound, flowed the bubbling
stream, a memento, no less apt, of the change-
Inl and fleeting nature of all the things belong-
ingto this earthly scene.

The descending sun was just beginning to
gild the peaks of the Western Andes when the
party assembled to pay the last tribute of aflec-
tlt>nat« regard to the mortal remains of their late

leader. Prairie-biid and her faithful Lita at

tended, both having their faces veiled by a
shawl, and the former supported by her newly-
restored brother ; nor was there one of the party
absent from the mournful ceremony, which was
commenced (as soon as the body, still enveloped
and bound in dark cloth, was placed near th«
grave) by a brief address from wingenund, lA
which he said,

" My brothers, know that War-Eagle was a
great chief; that the blood of many warriors
ran in his veins. The eneOQi^s of the Lenapd
were his enemies, and their friends his friend?.
When their warriors, went forth to battle, he
was not the last ; and when they returned, his
war-club could tell a tale." A deep murmur of
assent was uttered by the Delawares, and Win*
genund continued; "War-Eagle loved the he^
nape from his childhood ; and in his last mo-
ments he prayed to the Great Spirit for their
happiness. Efe also told Wingenund that Oliti-
pa and the Black Father had read feo him many
wonderful things from the Great ^irit's Book:
that he had thought much of them, and founa
them very good and very true. They had made
his heart so glad, that he wished wingenund
and his Lenap6 brothers to hear them, that they
might learn how to please the Great Spirit, and
to obey his wilL Wingenund promised War-
Eagle that, when the Black Father told theni
the commands of the Great Spirit written in the
book, the ears of the Lenapi^ should be open to
listen to the words of his wisdom, and to let his
counsel guide their feet My brothers, suph
were the wishes of War-Eagle, great chief of
the Unftmi band of the Ancient People. Win-
genund has told them truly, and he intends to
obey them himself; his -years are yet too few
thai he should advise otners; let each of m j
brothers think of these things wisely, and act as
the Great Spirit shall incline his heart."

A long and profound silence followed this
speech; after wnich Paul Miiller, approaching
the mound, desired that the body mignt be low-
ered into the grave. When this was done, he
addressecf first the Delawares, setting forth the
virtues of the deceased chieAain, and laying the
greatest stress upon those which were of a more
mild and peaceful character. He touched also
most feelingly upon the occasion on which he
,had received the injuries from which he died,
assuring the Delawares that no length of time,
nor changes of life, would ever efiTace from the
menrory of Prairie-bird^ or those to whom she
was so dear, the devoted heroism of her deliver-
er. "But, my beloved brothers," said he, in
conclusion, " great as was the gift that he gave
to her, even his life for hers, he received from
her a gift much greater; for it is my humble
hope and belief that, through her entreaty and.
prayer, h!s eyes were open to see things that he
had never seen before ; and, having once seen .
their riches and their beauty, he desired thai •
vou, my brothers, should see them too. He
learned what, I fear, you cannot yet understand
—that it is the will of the Great Spirit that we .
should observe and study his works, and copy .
'them. Is it true, my fnends 1 Is there sense
in my words T*

He paused for a reply. The elder Delawares
lookedf at each other, aad then, as if by mutnaA
consent, nodded their assent.

The Missionary continued: "Well, then, the
Great Spirit is merciful and just, kind and fop>
giving, loving peace and hating strifr. How

r

THE PRAIRiE-BIKD.

106

•lo we try to please him 1 By hating peace, and "Stony-heart speaks true: yet he
being swift to shed blood j by revenging where member that War-Eagle only desired
we ought to forgive, and dealing harshly by "^ ' *- — *- *-— '^ *- "— ' ^^

those on whom we ought to have mercy. The
Osages. who are just gone are wicked men;
ihev have been guilty of treachery and cruelty,
and you are disappointed that you were not per-
mitted to kill them, and that Wingenund sent
Ihem away unhurt. They have been wicked,
far more wicked, towards the Great Spirit: they
have disobeyed His commands, despisea His
laws, destroyed the creatures of His hand, and
have insulted Him and braved His anger for
weeks, and months, and years 1 How has )ie
treated them 1 He has given them water from
His clouds, and has brought the herds of bison
to their hunting-ground, aUd has given the sun
to warm them by day, and the moon and stars
to light their path bv night! And if even now
one of them — ^nay, the very worst among them,*
were to have his heart softened, and to turn to
the Great Spirit, and say, * My Father in heaven,
I am sorry for all the wrong that I have done,
O forgive and guide me. for i wish to dp so no
more T it is written in that book by the hand of
the Great Spirit himself, that He would forgive
that sorrowiol man, and bless him, and. turn the
bitterness of his heart into gladness and joy
sweeter than honey! These things, my dear
brothers, are not learned in a day; but, I thank
Crod that by His blessing, and the affectionate
and patient labours of Olitipa, the eyes of War-
Eagle were opened to see them t and he desired
that those whom he most lovea should see and
feel them like himself. We will now take our
tast farewell of him on earth, afler the manner
of those who love, fear, and obey the word of
the Father of us all."

Having thus -spoken, the worthy Missionary
kneU by the side of the newly-filled grave, and
concluded the solemnities of tne occasion by an
affecting prayer in the English tongue ; Reginald,
Ethelston, and all the hunters and woodsmen,
kneeling uncovered, and finally joining in that,

Serfect model of supplication taught by the Re-
eemer himself to those who, in whatever age or
clime, are called by His name. ^

Having paitt these last honours to their de-
parted friend, the leaders of the party withdrew
to make the proposed arrangements for striking
the camp on the following morning, and for set*
diQgthe line and order of march.

OTe Delawares lingered for some time, as if
unwilling to leave the remains of their beloved
Chief, and at length slowly retired, one by one,
until there remained only our old friend Bap-
tiste and a veteran Delawai<i. who, from his feats
of hardihood, and the stem nerceness of his na-
ture, was generally known by the name of Stony-
heart

" Grande-Hlche," said the latter, addressing
his companion, " it may be all very good what
the Black Father says, but Stony-heart does not
understand it. When War-Eagle said that the
Lenap^ should not kill those who had taken the
scalps of their warriors or of their women, the
Mad Spirit must ha,ve got into his brain ! Stony-
heart has seen many winters, and has heard tne
ta.k of the wise men in council, but he never
heard such words as these I"

It must be confessed that Baptiste was not in
his heart a very strong advocate for the doctrine
of forgiveness; we have already seen in a for-
mer chapter, that he was rather disposed to fa-
your the Indian law of retaliation ; he answered,
ho^evefi on this occasion cautiously.

must le* i>
that his
Lenape brothers should hear' what the Black
Father had Co say on this matter ; they can then
decide whether his words are idle or not It wlJI
be easier for him to persuade the young 4haft
men who like us have known for forty wintei-s
that the custom of the woods, and of the prairie,
is life for life, and scalp for scalp ^

"It will," rejoined the other; ''and Grande-
H&che will see that no good will follow frcim
having spared the lives of those four Washashe
dogs!»^

With this prophetic observation, Stony-heart
rejoined his comrades, and Baptiste joined the
^mall group assembled before the door of the
tent.

On the following morning the party began their
homeward mareh, Wingenund leading the way,
followed by his Delawares, and acconApaoied by
Besha and the Crow guide, who had be^n sent
for by a runner before daybreak. The packed
mules and horses were placed in the centre un-
der the special charge of Monsieur Perrot, whose
fund of good-humour and resource had never
failed him, and wh6 now performed the office ot
a muleteer with the same readiness with which
he fulfilled the respective duties of valet to Re-
ginald, and cook, messman, and buffoon to the
whole party. The rear was brought up by Eth-
elston and Reginald, the latter stul keeping his
post at the bridle of Nekimi, the line of mareh
being closed by Baptiste and some of the most
experienced hunters, while Pierre was sent for-
ward to aid Wingenund, he being the most skU«
ful and practised in the peculiar difficulties of
the dangerous region which they were now at)cat
to traverse.

For several days all went on as well as could
be expected. The heat was intense, and water
was sometimes scarce ; several of the mules and
pack-horses dropped down from exhaustion,*land
were left behind; the stock of provisions was
somewhat short, but the party twice fell in with
a small herd of buffalo, from which they pro-
cured a tolerable supply; and, at camping time,
they all assembled round the fire in front of
Prairie-bird*s tent, and, after their frugal evening
meal, wore away the time with conversation
suited to the different groups into which the par-
ty divided itself, some talking over tormer cam-
paigns, others cracking their jokes and enjoying
the laugh which invariably followed Perrot's de-
termined attempts to explain himsell in the Dei-
aware tongue, while Reginald, Ethelston, and
Prairie-bira lived over again the days of their .
childhood, or recounted to each other some ol
the most interesting incidents of the interven-
ing years.

, All remarked the changed aspect and increased
gravity of Wingenund ; his manner was indeed
gentle and quiet as before, but the death of his
brother, and the responsibility now entrusted tc
him, added to other serious matters which occu-
pied his mind, seemed in him to have annihila-
ted the interval between early youth and ripened
manhood. First to rise before daybreak, and
last to lie down at night, he seemed unconscious
of fatiffue, and resolved that on this occasion at
least, the Delawares should not from his neglect
be reminded of the loss that they had so lately sus-
tained. At night he visited the sentries and
saw that every one was at his allotted post, and
on the march, whenever the nature of the ground
rendered precautiw Pessary scouts w^e sent

w

Id6

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

fbrwaid to examine, it. and to gnard against
ambush or surprise. Every evening he joined
the little party before the tept, and never left it
without wishing his sister (as he* still called
Prairie-bird) a night of rest, and asking a bless-
ingfrom the lips of the Black Father.

The Crows behaired upon this occasion better
than had been expected of them, camping always
at a certain distance from the allied party, and
observing faithfully the other conditions of the
treaty. The Guide whom they had supplied led
the way towards the Great Prairie, by a-valley
considerably to the northward of that by which
they had entered the mountain region, and Pierre
Boon perceived that its eastern termination was at
a spot that was easily recognised, by all experi-
enced trappers, as the *< Devil's Kettle," owing
to the steam that ascended from a hot-spring,
celebrated for its medicinal qualities among the
neighbouring tribes.

Here the fresh horses promised by the Crows
were supplied, and an equal number of those ex-
hausted and incapable of further travel were left
behind. Nekimi alone of the whole quadruped
band, seemed insensible alike to the scantiness
of pasture, and the heat and fatigue of the jour-
ney. The fair burthen that he bore was as that
of a feather compared to the powerful frame of
Ids former rider when armed and equipped, and
the noble animal seemed desirous of expressing
his gratitude for the change by rubbing his fore-
head against Reginald as ne walked before him,
or nibbling out of his hand a few young shoots
of alder or willow that he was now and then for-
tunate enough to cut by the half-dried bed of
some mountain stream.

In this way they travelled forward without ac-.
cident or adventure, until they reached the banks
of a river of considerable size, which Pierre con-
jectured to be the head-water of the southern-fork
of the Neosho, or the Platte, and here they were
to complete the terms of fhe treaty, and bia adieu
to their Upsaroka friends, the opposite bank of
the river not being considered witnin the limits
of their hunting ground.

The ceremonials observed upon this occasion
were much the same as the preceding, with the
exception that Bending-willow paid a visit to
Prairie-bird, received from her several presents,
drank a cup of the wonderful black liquor, of
which her husband had told her, namely, coffee
sweetened with si^ar, and told her fair hostess
that his affections had not as yet strayed to any
other of his spouses — a fact the truth of which
was attested by her displaying, with the mosi
ostentatious coquetry, the mirror-backed brush,
of which he was more proud than of *any thing
that he possessed.

Besha made himself wonderfully busy during
the payment of the presents due to the Crows;
and in one or two instances when the latter chiim-
ed more than was recorded in Reginald's memo-
randum, he stoutly maintained that the white
men were right, and recommended the Crows to
withdraw their pretensions ; in so doing he did
Bot neglect to whisper every now and then to
Baptiste or Pierre, a hint that he intended to be
paid for his disinterested support.

All this was not lost up(m White-Bull, who,
although he could not understand a word of what
passed, felt, nevertheless, convinced that the in-
terpreter was playing some under-game. He
said nothliiK, however, and the distrihution was
aaiisfactorily completed, Wingenund and Regi-
nald adding gratuitously several presents for ue

chie& beyond those piciilsed In the treaty. Be-
sha, to the surprise df many of the Crows who
knew his avaricious disposition, went away,
apparently well satisfied, with nothing more thaa
a blanket and a knife; but they did not know
that he had privately whispered to Baptiste that
he would come by night to fetch away his stipu-
lated share of the presents (and that too a Mon't
shared as the Crows might be Jealous if they .
saw tnem, and might take them from him.

The two parties having taken their final leav«
of each other, the task of guide devolved upon
Pierre, who resolved not to cross the Platte that
evening, it being now rather late, but to encamp
where they were, while the Crows returned some
dozen miles upon their trail before they encamp-
ed for the night. They had seen eno^h of too
effective force and discipline of the allied band
to deter them from attacking it, and prudently
resolved to return to their own country with the
goods which they had already acquired withdut
loss or risk ; although it becomes us, as vera-
cious historians, to state (however little credit
the statement may reflect upon White-Bull) that
it had been, frppi th^ first, bis intention to attack
and plunder the party, had their carelessness or
neglect afiforded nim an opportunity of doing so
with impuni^.

Besha havmg ascertained the spot selected fi)i
the Crow encampment, lingered behind their line
of march, accompanied by the lad before-men-
tioned as being his constant attendant, whom h«
left concealed, with two of his horses, behind a
small hillock beside the trail, desiring him there
to await his return. In order to avoid suspicioi^
be continued in the company of White-Bull untP
it was dusk, and did not leave the camp until an
hour later, when he threw a large dark-coloured
blanket over his shoulders, and slipping away
unperceived, rejoined the lad left m charge oj
the horses.

Mounting one himself, he desired his com-
panion to follow on the omer, and trotted brisk^
forward, under the partial light of a young moon,
over the ground which he had carefully noted
during the day, until he reached a spot where the
trail approached within a hundredfyards of the
banks oi the Platte, and where a few alder bushes
offered convenient shelter for the horses. Here
the lad was again desired to await his master's
return ; and as the dew began to fiaill heavy, he
was not sorry that the latter left with him*-the
large dark-coloured blanket above-mentioi^.

Besha now pursued his way on foot; and on
reaching the outposts of the allied baud fotmd,
as had been preconcerted, two of the Delawares
bearing several large packages, containing the
presents and goods that he had earned in his
mixed capacity of diplomatic agent and inter*
preter. The packages being inconvenient for
the horse-dealer to carry alone, both on account
of their weight and number, hie prevailed upon
one of the Delawares to assist him in carrying
them to the spot where he had left the horses. It
was only by ofiTering the fodian, who was no other
than Stony-heart, a little bag full of excellent
kinne-kinnik for his pipe, that he prevailed upon
him to undenake this task. But the materials for
smoking had become scarce, and it was an in*
dulgence from which, when within reach, Stony-
hea^ could not refrain ; he accordingly sent back
his companion, and, telling him that he would
return in the course of an hour or two, set forth
with the horse-dealer on the trail.

We must now see how it fued with the M

.1

THB PRAIRIE. BIRD.

urr

fefeffe in charge of Ae horses, who* being tired with
tike day's march, fastened the eod of their long
halters to his arm, and wrapping himself in the
blanket, laid down upon the grass, and soon fell
into a comfortable doze. One of the horses,
probably disliking this nnosaai separation from
those with which it was accustomed at this honr
to feed, neighed several times alond, for which
disturbance of his slumber it received a pull of
the halter, and a muttered execration from the
youth, when he again fell into a state of tmcon-
sciousness.

Now it so happened that the neighing of the
horse reached otner ears at no great distance,
beings those of no less a person than the Osage.,
who, with his three companions, was on bis
homeward way, and had on the preceding day
stolen an old canoe that they found on the bank
of the river^; and afler patching up a fbw rents
and holes, had embarked in it to save themselves
a portion of their long foot journey. They had
seen from a distance the moving bands of the
white men and of the Crows, and had hauled
eheir canoe under some alder bushes on the bank,
in ordtr to consult and determine whether they
should drop further down the river during the
night, or leaving it, strike a more soutnerly
coarse.

While holding this consultation, the neighing
•f Besha's horse caught the quick ear of their
leader; he listened— and hearins; it repeated,
crept towards the spot, followed by his three com-
panions. As soon as the uncertain light of the
mocm enabled him to distinguish the two pack-
horses fastened to the sleeping lad, he again crept
noiselessly forward, and springing upon him, en-
veloped him in his own blanket, stuffing the cor-
ner of it into his mouth, so that he could neither
struggle nor make any noise.

Leaving one of his men in chaige of the hor-
ses, he carried the youth swiftly to the water's
edge, where he securely pinioned and gagged
him, not, however, before ne had recognised by
the moonlight the countenance of Besha's attend-
ant. The Osage's plan was soon formed ; for he
rightly conjectured that the horse-dealer was
gone upon some errand, from which he would
not return empty handed; and he also owed the
horse-dealer a grudge for having, as he suppo-
sed, fajEoured Wingenund in that eventful scene
which terminated Mah^ga's life.

Stripping the youth of his dark blanket and of
the broad-brimmed hat of Mexican grass that he
wore, the Osage put them on himself; and ta-
king his seat by the same bush, he held the halt-
ers of the horses, and partially concealing his
face in one of the folds of the blanket, awaited in
this disguise the return of the horse-dealer, while
his three companions concealed themselves be-
hind the adjacent bushes.

They had not been very long ensconced before
Besha appeared, followed by the doughty Stony-
heart, who muttered to himself as he came that
he would not carry such a load so far again for
all the kinne-kinnik in the camp. The horse-
dealer as he drew near gave the usual signal-
whistle for his attendant; and finding that it was
unanswered, looked towards the spot, where he
descried the Siumbering figure in the slouched
nat and dark blanket; while one of his pack-
horses, lately cast loose, seemed to be deliberate-
ly walking off to seek better pasture. Hastily
throwing his own package to the ground, he went
to secure the stray animal, calling at the same
time to Stony-heart,

" Hick that sleepy dog till he wakens, that he
may come and assist me with these packs."

The Belaware, who was not a man of many
words, proceeded forthwith to execute this ofderi
and, without putting down his heavy load, be-
stowed a sound kicu upon the reclining figure,
whiclh to his infinite surprise, started instantly
to its feet in the shape of a powerful man, who
threw him, encumbered as he was, upcn th^
ground, ana successfully resisted all his viclem
efforts to extricate himself. While one of the
Osages came to assist in securing the &}len Deil*
aware, the other two seized tiie unlucky horse-
dealer, fust as he was mounting in the hope of
saving himself by flight.
, So successfully had the Osages planned and
executed this manceuvre, that in less than five
minutes their last two prisoners were laid bound
and pinioned together with the first in the canoe,
where the captured bales and presents were also
stowed away, and while one of the Osages took
the horses to a ford not far distant, which had
been recently crossed by a lai^e herd of bison,
the remaining three, with their prisoners, pad^*
died across the river, and then noiselessly along
the opposite bank, until they had reached a deep
and winding creek, which fell into the main riv-
er, and which they had noticed by daylight as
affording convenient fuel and shelter. Having
pursued their way up the creek until they con-
sidered themselves safe from pursuit, and their
fire &om the observation of eitner encampment,
they gathered and lighted a goodly pile " !dry al-
der-wood, and proceeded deliberately to unpack
and examine the bales and packages, throwing
their three pinioned captives roughly on one side,
as being so much live lumber unworthy of their
notice.

The plunder that they found themselves thus
suddenly possessed of exceeded their utmost ex-
pectations; and as it contained, among other
things, a package of excellent dried meat and
the kinne-kinnik, from which poor Stony-heart
had expected so much gratification, they ate co>
piously of the former', and smoked copiously of
the latter, until they were in the highest possible
state of Osage enioyment.

It wns not long before they were joined by Aeir
comrade with the horses, who receivcyl, as soon
as he had fastened the latter, his due share both
of the provisions and the plunder; alter whieh
they ungagged the prisoners, at the same tim«
giving them to understand that if ihey made tbm
least noise they would be put to death immedi-
ately. Indeed, whether they were noisy or quiet,
it seemed by no means improbable that such
might be their fate, for two ot the Osages strong
ly urged the necessity for so doing, under the
plea of self-preservation. The leader seemed|
however, to be of a different opinion, and he baa
already established a kind of prescriptive right
of command over his comrades.

Having thrown some dry sticks upon the fire
to make it blaze, he drew Stony-heart towards
the light, and as it fell upon his countenance en-
abled him to recognise in his prisoner one of the
chief warriors of the Delaware band.

" Is Stony-heart become a mule,'* said he with
a grin, " that he carries bales and blankets upon
his back V

To this taunt Stony-heart did not deign to re-
ply, and a brief 'conversation ensued among the
Osages ; after which their leader came again to
him, and having searched his dress, satisfied
himself that the Delaware had no olhcr arm*

198

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

with him than a knife and a small pistol con-
cealed in his belt. The fonner he left untouch-
ed, but the latter he dipped in the creelt until it
was thoroughly soakea, and then returned it to
the owner, whom, having now released from his
bands, he thus addressed :

** Stony-hean may return to l^is peopled; he is
fiee ; and he may tell Wingenund mat the Wa&-
hashfr know how to repay a good deed, as well
§8 to revenge a bad one. Stony-heart may go 1"

The Delaware waited no second bidding, but
returned with all haste towards his camp, being
obliged to swim the river, and mutteringto him-
ielf, alter he had crossed it, "I told Baptiste
that no good could ever come of sparing the
Uves of Uiose Washashe dogs t" sucn being th^
only sratitude that he either lelt or expressed for
the clemency that he had just experienced at
Cheirhandsl

Soon aflSer his departure, the Osa^fes turned
their attention to Besba, sternly questioning him
as to the part he had taken in their late cniefs
dispute with Wingenund; and in spite of all his
protestations of impartiali^ and innocence, they
stripped him of evejy article of clothing save his
moccasins, and gave bim a most severe flogging
with a laryette of buirs-hide, after which they
decamped, leaving him still pinioned, and writh-
ing with pain, while they carried with them his
attendant, whom they compelled to load and ar-
range the packs upon the horses, and to lead the
latter for the first dozen miles of their route;
after which they permitted him to return to re-
lease his master, who crawled back with diffi-
culty, before daylight, to the Crow camp, hav-
ing reaped the reward of h& intrigues, cunning,
and avarice, in the loss of all his presents, two
of his best norses, and a flogging, from the ef-
fects of which he suffered for a long time.

CHAPTER XLVIL

The Scene is ahifled to the Banlu of the Masldnffom, and
^^irie'bird retunu to the Home of her -Childnood.

About two months after the events related in
the preceding chapters, there was an unusual
stir and bustle in the town of Marietu, and half
a score of its principal inhabitants were assem-
bled in front of David Muir's house, to witness
the landing of the crew and passengers belong-
ing to a large boat that had just arrived at the
wooden pier which projected into the river.

Foremost of a busy group at the water's edge
was the sturdy form of Gregson the mate, whose
ciders respecting the bringing-to, and making
fast, were implicitly obeyed; and when at length
she was securely moored alongside the pier, nu-
merous and hearty were the greetings between
those who stepped ashore from her, and the
friends from wnom they had been so long sev-
ered.

" Bearskin, how are youl my old freshr water
porpoise!" said the mate, squeezing the bard
naDd of the Mississippi boatman. " How fares
it, messmate r

"Ail right now, my hearty; but we've had
some foul weather since I saw you last."

"Ay, I see!" said the mate, observing the
scars upon his old companion's face and fore-
head ; " you've been snagged, and damaged vour
figure-head a bit: never mind that; we'll have
all that yam out by-and-by over a bottle of Da-
vid's best. See, here he comes to welcome you
fiiicselfl"

Leaving DaVid Moir and Beaiskin to CMir

mutual greetings, the mate returned to the watei^
side and lent his powerful assistance to theland^
ing of ^the cargo of the heavily-laden boat; and
certainly, a more strange or heterogeneous mix-
ture of animate and inanimate stock never camn
out of any vessel since the disembarkation irok&
the ark. Skins^ furs, bows, rifles, moccasins, anc
Indian curiosities of every description, were pilec
near the bows, while in the aller-part were stow*
ed provisions of all kinds, and kegs, which were '
by no means so full as they were when the boat
left St. Loifis. /

The appearance, language, and costume of
the crew would baffle any attempt at descrip*
tion, inasmuch as each sunburnt, unshavcd in«
dividual composing it, had equipped and attired
himself acconling to his own fancy, and accord^
ing to the contents of his remaining wardrobe
after a long sojourn in the western wilderness
and when it is remembered that these hardy fel-
lows were from all the varied clans and nations
found between the sources and the mouth of the
" Father of Waters," it is not surprising thai
their mingled jaii^on should have struck upon
the ear like the dialects of Babel in the day of
its confusion. There were half-breed Creeks and
Cherokees ; Canadians, some with no little ad-
mixture of^ Chippeway blood ; others, proud of
their pure French descent: there were also some
of the rough boatmen, who had already migra-
ted to the banks of the Great River, where it
washes the western boundaries of what are now
the States of Kentucky and Illinois ; and a saw-
boned, sinewy fellow, who acted as a sort of
second mate, was giving instructions in broad
Scotch, to a dark-eyed and diminutive Individ*
ual, who replied to him in bad Spanish. Al>ove
the din of all these multifarious tongues, was
heard the shrill and incessant voice of Monsieur
Perrot, who was labouring with indefatigable
zeal to collect bis master's baggage, and to pal
it safely ashore.

This he was at length enabled to efiect with
the aid of David Muir and the mate;, after
which the articles destined for Mooshanne were
piled in readiness for the wagon which was to
convey them,,and the remainder found their way
by degrees to their respective destinations.

When at last the good-humoured valet found
himself comfortably seated in the merchant's
parlour with the worthy man himself, Dama
Christie, Jessie, and the mate, for his audience^
and a bottle of madeira, with some fried ham
and fresh eggs upon the table, be gave a sigh,
the importance or which was lost upon none of
those present, and he looked from one to the oth*
er witn the conscious superiority of a man who
knows how much be has to tell.

It is not our province to follow him through
the " hair-breadth 'scapes," the " moving acci-
dents bv flood and field," with which he set his
astonished hearers " all agape ;" the only portion
of his narrative which it concerns us to know, is
that which referred to the movements of Regi-
nald Brandon and the remainder of bis party,
who' might, according to Monsieur Perrot's ac-
count, be almost daily expected at Mooshanne,
as they had left St^ Louis and crossed its ferry
with tent, baggage, and a large cavalcade, on
the day of his embarkation in the great " BaS-
teau."

It was so long since Monsieur Perrot had
tasted any liquid with a flavour like that of thfl
merchant's madeira, that he sipped and talksdi

TH£ PRAIRIE-BIRD.

190

talked and fdpped, withotit noting the lapse of
time, ind the evening was already far advanced
IMbre |i« thought of rising to take his departure
'fer Mooshasne; even then, David Mair pressed
him so strongly to remain with him over-night,
and continue his journey on the following morn-
ing, that Monsieur Perrot found himself quite
unable to resist accepting the invitation ; espe-
rially as he thought that another day or two
might probably elapse before the return of Regi-
nald; and, more^er, the bright eyes of Jessie
Muir looked a thousand times brighter Arom the
contrast that her beauty afforded to the swart
dusky complexions by which he had so lately
been surrounded.

Leaving the merry Frenchman and his still
wond^ng auditors in David's parlour, we will
proceed without delay to Mooshanne, where it
nappened tbat^ about four o'clock on the same
afternoon, a ;5ingle horseman sprang from the
animal that, to judge from its appearance, had
eanried him far and fast, and, having rung the
door-bell, waited not for any one to answer it,
but walked straight into the vestibule.

The beil was still ringing when the door of the
drawing-room was slightiv opened that the blue
ejFes of Lucy might herself reconnoitre the new
comer; the next moment saw her in her broth-
er's arms.

^« Dear, dear Reginald 1 'tis he, 'tis he, indeed !"
and she drew him into the room that her father
might share her rapturous joy.

While the Colonel pressed his son to his heart
in a fond paternal embrace, Lucy ran up stairs
to prepare the more delicate nerves of her inva-
lid mother for the shock of happiness that await-
ed her.

Scarcely were these first a^ectionate greetings
exchanged, ere Lucy inquired with expectant
eagerness, "When will they arrive 1 — how far
off are they, Reginald 1"

**They cannot now be long; I think within a
eouple of hours they must be here. If I mistake
■ot, Lucy, there is one of the narty who be-
grudged me not a little my of^ce otavatU-cowrier.*'

Lucy blushed " celestial rosy red, love's prop-
er hue,*' as she felt how her heart leaped within
her to meet the one to whom her brother refer-
red; and she hastened away to conceal her min-
gled confusion and happiness, in the thousand
littie details of preparation ibr her expected
guests.

It may be as well here to mention, that imme-
diately on reaching St. Louis, Reginald had dis-
patched a messenger on horseback to his father
with a letter, containing the outline of the events
eonnected with his western expedition, and in-
ferming him of the rescue of Prairie-bird, and
of the attachment that existed between her and
himself. He spoke not of her parentage, further
than to say that she had been carried off in child-
hood from her own &mily, who were of a line-
age and descent altogether unexceptionable ; and
he entreated and conjured his father not to en-
tertain, nor proQouce any objection to bis pro-
posed alliance, until he had an opportunity of
teeing, hearing, and judging for himself.

Reginald had also insisted upon Ethelston's
abstaining from this iopic in any letter that he
night wish to send from St. Louis, and the Col-
onel had thought it advisable to say nothing to
Lucy of her brother's attachment, while there
"emained a doubt of its being such as he could
•aprove or sanction ; so that he had opiy inform-
M h£r that the p«rty would 4ring back with

them Prairie-bird, whom the young Delaware
had mentioned so often as his sister, but who
was, in fact, the daughter of English parents, of
the highest respectability ; and that she would be
accompanied by Paul Miiller, a missionary,
whose reputation for piety and learning was ex-
tensively spread, ana who had been, since her
residence with the Indians, her instrucixr and
adopted father.

Lucy's curiosity to see Prairie-bird hac Keen,
since the arrival of her brother's letter, extraor-*
dinarily excited. Sometimes she fancied ler a
half- wild, half-civilized being clad in a dress of
skins, and speaking broken English. Then'
again she was puzzled at the remembrance of
the affectionate reverence, almost amounting to
worship, with which Wingenund had spoktn of
her, and again her calculation was at fault. Un-
der these doubts and perplexities, she consulted
Aunt Mary, and with her aid and concurrence
had prepared for her expected guest a room upon
the ground floor, that looked upon her own flow-
er-garden. Its fuVniture was simple, but ex-
ceedingly pretty, being a kind of representation
of a tent, of an octagon shape, and hung with a
delicate-coloured pink cl^intz.

The view from the windows was loyeiy ; fbr
although the flowery parterres had lost their
brightest sumttier hues, a few roses still lingered
among them, contrasting with the thousand au-
tumnal colours that decked the shady mass of
distant forests, between which and the flower-
garden was seen here and there, through a leafy
vista, the winding course of the Muskingum.
Lucy had decked the interior of the room with
all those nameless comforts and luxuries that
betoken woman's affectionate care : several
shelves were covered with well-selected books,
and two china baskets upon the table were filled
with siTch flowers as thb indefatigable Aunt
Mary had placed there, unconscious for whom
she gathered them.

As soon^s Reginald had enjoyed a short in-
terview with his mother, whose heslltb, though
still delicate, had somewhat improved since he
had last seen her, Lucy entered, and taking him
by the arm, said, "Come, Reginald, you must
inspect my preparations. See, this is your own
room, which you will find rather more say than
when you left it, as Aunt Mary would have it
new-papered. That beyond is destined, as be-
fore, for Ed~for Ethelston."

'' Has Aunt Mary thought it requisite to new-
paper that, too, or did it occur to Miss Lucy
without her aunt's suggestion 1"

Lucy punished him with a slight pinch on the
arm; and then, leading him down the stairs tfl
the tent apartment, said to him, "Now, sir, I
will show you what I have prepared for youi
Indian lady; this is Prairie-hird's room."

The tell-tale blood rushed into Reginald's
bronzed and sunburned cheek, as he stood with-
in the room destined to contain his heart's treas*
ure; thoughts far too sweet, and deep, and swifl
for words, mingled the past and the future in a
delicious dream, as bending over his sister he
kissed her fair forehead, and pressed her in si-
lence to his heart.

With the intuitive quickness of sympathy,
Lucy read in that expressive silence the secret
of her brother's breast ; and looking up to him.
half reproachfully, she said, "Reginald, could
not you have trusted your Lucy so far, as to te-
her that Prairi6-bird would have a dearer title to
her affections than that of being Wingenund's

<^.^

I

900

THE PEJ^IRIE-BIUft

sister, or the child of the Missionary's adop-
tionr

" Dear Lucy !" replied her brother, with an
impressive earnestness, that reassured while it
awed her, '< there has been so much of the mys-
terious and merciful worJcins of Providence in
the history of Prairie-bird, that I am sure you
will forgive me when I ask vou to wait a few
hours before all is explained to you. Mean-
while, receive her, for these few hours, as a
g^est ; if at the end of them you do not love her
as a sister, my prophetic spirit errs widely of its
mark/'

Lucy saw well how deeply her brother's feel-
ings, were moved, and she prayed inwardly that
her expected guest might fulfil his prophecy. It
must be owned, however, that there luiked a
doubt in her heart whether it could be possible
that a girl reared vi an Indian camp could be to
her a sister, or could be worthy of that brother,
whom her fond partiality clothed with attributes
beyond those which belong to ordinary mortals.
Her affection for Reginald would not permit her
to let him perceive these doubts ; but fearful of
betraying them by her manner, she left him in
the room destined for Prairie-bird, while she
hastened to aid the indefatigable Aunt Mary in
some of the other preparations that were going
forward: the Colonel having given orders that
the whole parly, of whatever rank or station,
should be hospitably entertained.

Re^nald was no sooner leA alone, than cast-
ing his eyes around the room, a sudden idea oc-
cuired to him of nreparing an agreeable surprise
for his betrothea on her entrance to her new
domicile. He remembered having seen below,
in the drawing-room, a Spanish guitar, which he
lost no time in securing; and haviag taken it
from the case, he ascertainied that it was a very
fine instrument, and 'that the strings were in
very tolerable order. He now laid it upon the
sofa-table in her room, placing beside it a slip
of paper which he took from his pocket, and
which seemed, from its soiled and cnimpled
condition, to have suffered not a little from the
various wettings to which, during the past
months of travjt, it had been exposed. Still he
lingered in the room, noting with satisfaction the
various trifling luxuries and comforts which his
sister had prepstfed for Prairie-bird, when sud-
denly he caught the sound of a bi^igle-note, in
which he instantly recognised the signal to be
given hy Baptiste of the party's approach.

How did his heart beat within him as he flew
to welcome them ; yet were its throbbing pulsa-,
tioBs like the quiet of sleep compared to those
of the maiden, who now drew near the home of
her infancy. Ethelston had leaped to the ground,
and half supported her in the saddle with one
hand, while with the other he checked Nekimi,
whose impatientneigh betrayed his remembrance
of the com*bin, and tne well-known stall.

" Edward— Edward, I cannot go through this !"
said the half-fainting girl. ** My thoughts are
all confused — ^my brain turns round — see, there
IB the house! I cannot remember it. O, stay a
nlinute— only one minute, that I may recover
myself!"

"Dear EvyP said her brother, looking up
while she leaned afiTectionately upon his shoul-
der, " His natural that your thoughts should be
mingled and confused, but let them not be gloomy
now! The house is so changed within the last
ten years, that had you built it yourself you
could not zeeognise it in its present state. Al-

ready I can distingnirii dear Aunt Mary's vnMe
cap and aprcm ; and Luc^^ longing to embrace n
sister ; the grey locks of the stately Oo>lan«l, aM
one beside him,, who will not be the lam to wi^
come Prairie-bird !" .

" I can distinguish nothii^, Edwaid; there is
a mist before my eyes: but it is a mist of love
and happiness unspeakable t"

" Courage, dear Evy I" said her brother in a
cheering tone; "let them not think that Prairid-
bird draws near with slow, unwilling step, ssti
that her heart regrets the change from the prai-
rie to the scenes of her childhood, and the home
of her choice 1"

" Edward !" said his sister reproachfully, while
a tear started in her eye, and we Uood mounted
to her temples ; then shaking back Ike dark locks
f^^m her glowing cheeks, as if she would there-
bv shake ofl^ the temporary weakness bv which
she bad been overcome, she added, ** Remount
your horse ; we have yet some hundred feet to go;
if Prairie-biid draws near with slow, unwilling
step, it shall be Nekimi's fault, and not her own P

$0 saying, she shook the loosened rein npoa
the neck of the fiery steed, which bounding Tor*
ward with a spring that would have unsealed a
less practised rider, bore her swiillv to the door,
where be stopped, obedient to her oelicate handl
and champed^ and frothed, and snorted, as if
proud alike <» his burden, and of his own match-
less symmetry of form.

Never baa her radiant beauty so thrilled
through Reginald's everv nerve as at this mo-
ment, when, lightly touching his proffered arm,
she sprang to the ground ; her cheek growing ^
with agitation, and her eye moistened by con*
tending emotions, she interchanged with him
one silent look of conscious love, and then turn-
ed, with gentle grace, to receive the greeting it
Colonel Brandon.

We have before said that he had been &r
from pleased with the contemplated alliance of
his son, and bad made up his mind to receive
Prairie-bird with cold and studied courtesy, nor
to treat her otherwise than as an ordinary guest^
until he should have satisfied himself respeeting
her birth and connezicms; but, in spite of him*
self, these resolutions vanished before the ine*
sistible attractions of her manner and bearingi
so that instead of only ratenaing his hand as he
had proposed, he imprinted a parental kiss upoc
her forehead, saying,

'^Welcome, heartily and trfij welcome tc
Mooshanne !"

She tried to speak, but she looked on the half-
remembered feamres of Reginald's lather, and
her collected ^ngth began to fail. At this umh
ment she was greeted by Lucy, whom* she al-
ready knew to be the chosen of her brother's
heart.

»* Prairie-bird must leaxn to love her sister f*
whispered she, fokting her in an affectionate em<
brace.

" Leaniy Lucy I" replied Prairie-biid, whose
tears could no longer 'be controlled. ** Learnt
can a few years have so changed our faces and
our hearts, that Lucy and Evy must now learn
to love each other V

Before the astonished girl eoeV icp.y, Aunt
Mary, darting forward wit) ^tmtic Jeste, «•
claimed, ''What Toioe is thatl" .l.en catching
Prairie-bird by the arm, examined with wild
intensity every line of her countenance. As she
looked, the tears gathered in her own eyes, her
firame trembled with i^;ltation| and she fell iqnB

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

901

her neck, saying, <*'Tis she— 'tis my poor
brother's long-lost child 1"

LAcy's heart told her that it was so Indeed:
Colonel Brandon was oTercome with astonish-
neot; bat he read in the looks of Reginald and
fiUielston that the lost treasure was restored;
and as memoiy retraced in the features of Prai-.
lie-bird those of his attached and lamented fHend,
he, too, was unmanned ; and grasping Ethelsion's
hfttdi wroBg it with an emotion beycmd the power
of words.

The news spread like wild-fire througho'iit
the house that Captain Ethebton's sister was
letnnied: and Lucy was obliged to nm with all
speed to ner moth^s room to prevent a sudden
saock of joy that might affect her weakly neryes.
Is it possiUe to describe, or imagine the tians-
pofts of the succeeding nour in that happy cir-
cle t or the caresses showered upon Praine-bird t
What word would the pen or tongue employ 1
« Congratulations f As. well might one at-
tempt to represent Niagara by &e water poured
ftem a piteaer !

We will trust that hour to the reader's heart,
and will siq[>pose it past, and that Lucy, ^th
stm tearful eyes, and her arm still round her re-
covered sister's neck, was leading her from the
room where she had just knelt to receive Mrs.
Brandon's maternal kissj when, in passing a
half-open door, Lucv said, ** Eiry, that is your
brother's room ; but he is not in it, he is still on
the iawB."

'* Oh ! I must look into Edward's room," ex-
claimed Prairie-bird; and opening the door, she
entered, followed by Lucy. A rifle, a fowling-
piece, and a 'fishing-rod stood in one tomer;
over them were ranged several pair of pistols,
and two or three cutlasses, apparently of foreign
workmanship ; in the opposite comer, near the
window, was a globe, by the side of which stood
a case filled with nainal charts; on the other
side of the room was ranged a row of shelves
well stored with books, and the writing-table in
the centre was covered with papers all neatly
tied and docketed, as he had left them at his last
departure.

Prairie-bird's eye wandered with a certain de-

free of interest over all these indications of her
. rother's habits until it rested upon a small pcH*-
trait hung over the chimney-piece. It repre-
seated a man of middle age and stature, and,
although the painting was scarcely above medi-
ocrity as a work of art, the expression of the
countenance was strikingly open and bener*
olent. Prairie-bird gazed upon it until she
thought that the mild orbs upon the inanimate
canvas returned her a&ctionate gaze. With
clasped hands and beatin? heart, she stood
awhile silent, and then linking on her knees,
without removing her eyes from the object upon
which they rested, she murmured, in a whisper
scarcely audible, "My Father!"

It was indeed the portrait of his lamented
friend that Colonel Brandon had kindly placed
in Ethelston's room, a circumstance which had
escaped Lucy's memory at the moment of her
•Qteriiig it

Stooping oyer her kneeling companion, she
kissed her forehead, saying, " Evy, I will leaye
Tou for a few minutes to commune with the
memory of the honoured dead ; you will find me
in the vestibule below." ^ saying, she gently
closed the door, and left the room.

In less than a quarter of an hour Prairie-bird
rejoined her liieiia, and though the traces of re*

cent emotion were still to be observed, she had
recovered ner composure, and her cotutenance
wore an expression of grateful happiness.

"Come, Evy," said her young hostess, * 1
must now show you your own room ; the* cage
is not half pretty enough for so sweet a bird, but
it opens upon ^he flower-garden, so you caa
escape when you will, and your dear good Paul
Mailer is your next neighbour."

An exclamation of delight broke from the lipt
of Prairie-bird as she entered and looked round
the tented apartment, and all its little comforts
prepared by Lucy's taste and aflection. Fortu-
nately, the day was beautiful, and the casement
windows being wide open, her eye caught, be-
yond the flower-garden, a view of the distant
mass of forest, with its thousand varied autum*
nal tints, reposing in the golden light of the de-
clining sun.

" Oh, it is too, too beautifbl !" said Prairie-
bird, throwing her arms around Lucy's neck;
**I can scarcely belieye that this is not all a
dreamt"

** There have indeed been some lairies here,
or some such beings as dwell in dreams, Ev^,''
said Lucy, whose eye fell upon the guitar lying
on the taoie, " for I leil th^ room a short time
iffiD, and this instrument was not here then.
Wno can have brought it 1— can you play upon
it, Evy r

" A little," replied Prairie-bird, colouring.

" And see," continued Lucy, " here is a scrap
of paper beside it, so soiled and dirty that I
should have put it in the fire had 1 seen it be-
fore ; do you know the hand- writing, Evy T

As Lucy said this she looked archly up in
her friend's face, now glowing with a rosy
blush.

" Well, you need not answer, for methinks I
know it myself; may I unfola the paper, and
read its contents 1 What, no answer yet ; then
I must take your silence for consent."

Thus saying, she o^ned the paper, while
Prairie-bird, blushing still more deeply, glanced
at it with longing but half-averted eyes.

" Verses, I declare I" exclaimed Lucy. " Why,
Evy, what magic art haye you employed to trans-
form my Nimrod brother, the wild huntsman of
the west, the tamer of horses, and the slayer of
deer, into a poet V

She then proceeded to read in a yoice of deep
feeling, the following stanzas, which, althou^
without any pretensions to poetical merit m
themselves, found such acceptance with their
present warm-hearted and partial judges, that,
at the conclusion of their perusal, the two girls
fell upon each other^s neck, and remained lock-
ed in a silent and affectionate embrace.

Oh overJtetPtiMg Prmru-hirtP* Evening Hymn, ** Hallo wi»

BS Tht Name.'**

T«s, ballowvd be His Holj Name,

Who formed thee what thoa art !
Wboae braath inapired tha haar^y flame

Now kindled in tb^ heart !
Whoae love o'erflowing in thy brea^

Theae rocal natures itirred—
Whoae an^la hover nmnd thy aeat,

Thoa orpbaB FiairiB-biid !

Mothinka, I aee that gtiavdiaa tiupoff

StUl mirrared in thy face !
Thy vMce hath stoPn their angel-eoof ,

Thy form their angel-graoe.
Oh breathe onoe more that jdaintiTa attain,

Wheaa every tone and womI,
Deep-treaiured in my heart and brain

Shall dwell, sweet Prairie-bird ! R. B.
DeUHMM and Osage Camp, Taeeday night,

* See ohap. zzii., p. 77.

m»-

S02'

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

On the following day the family party at Moo-
shanne were assembled at luncheon under a
large tree, on the banks of the Muskingum,
from beneath the shade of which the gables and
irregular chimneys of the house were seen
through occasional openings in Lucy^s shrub-
bery ; while the deep river flowed silently on-
ward, bearing away in its trdnquil course the
gttSy tribute of autumn showered upon it by
the light breath of th^ western wind.

Already had Prairie-bird visited the spot
where her father's house had stood, 'the site of
which was only to be recognized by a few heaps
of stones and blackened timbers, over which the
luxuriant mosses and lichens, with which that
region abounds, had long since cast their mantle
of green, while a few apple, plum, and peach
trees, unprotected by hedge or/ence, still show-
ed " where once the garden smiled."

Colonel Brandon had not thought it advisable
to rebuild either the house or the offices after
their destruction by the savages, but had con-
tented himself with a careful administration of
his late friend's property, leaving it to his son
Edward to choose a site for his residence at a
later period. Neither must it be supposed that
our heroine had omitted to pay a morning visit
to Nekimi, who now knew her voice, and obey-
ed her call like an affectionate and faithful dog.
As soon as she came to tne stable, into which
he had been turned without halter or fastening
of anjr kind, the generous animal, after saluting
her with a neigh of recognition, rubbed his broad
forehead against her shoulder, and playfully nib-
bled the grains off the head of maize which she
held out to him ; but even that he did not ven-
ture to do until he had acquired a claim to it b^
ho.dinff one of his feet up and pawing with it
until she let it rest in her delicate hand. It must
assuredly have been by mere accident that Regi-
nald entered while she was thus employed, and
reminded her how he had, with prescient hope,
foretold this very scene amongst the rocky cliffs
of the far distant Andes. Well did Prairie-bird
remember the spot, and evenr syllable of that
prophecy ; neither did she a£lect to have foiigot-
ten it, but with a sweet blush held out one hand
to her lover, while the other still played with the
«i]ken tresses of Nekimi's^mane.

What a delightful occupation is it to caress a
dumb favourite by the side of one beloved, when
the words of endearing tenderness lavished on
the unconscious pet are the outpourings of a
heart sensitivelv shrinking from addressing them
directly to their real object ! and if it be true
Ihat many a sleek and glossy spaniel has thus
received the caress intended for its owner, how
much more natural was it that Reginald and
t^rairie-bird should find pleasure in bestowing
heir caresses on a noble animal endeared to
them by so many associations; for while she
remembered how often Nekimi had born^ him
in the chase and in the fight, he was not likely
to foreet with how true and unwearied a step
the faithful steed had carried his betrothed over
many hundred miles of mountain and of prairie ;
and even now, as her hand rested in his, both by
a conscious sympathy thought of Nekimi's for-
mer generous lord, and breathed a sigh over
War-Eagle's untimely fate.

To return to our party assembled round the
juncheon table under the venerable tree. The
first tumult of joy had subsided, and was suc-
ceeded by a feeling of more assured happiness,
"a sober certainty of waking bliss/' which per-

vaded every breast. Aunt Mary contemplated
her lovely niece with looks of the fondest afiEeo*
tion, recalling in her sweet smile and in tlie ex.
pression of her features the beloved brother,
whose loss she had with deep but chastenea
grief for many y^ars deplored \ for a few min-
utes there was a general silence; oi^ of thoee
pauses in which each member of the party pen*.
dered. as if by a common svmpathy, on the won-
derful events which had led to their reunion,
Lucy was the first to break it.

" Reginald," said she, " you related to us yes-
ter-evening the commencement of your home-
ward journey, and how the Delaware called
* Stony-heart' was permitted by the Osages to
return unhurt to your camp : you must resume
the thread of your tale where you left it, and tell
us especially how and where you parted from
dear Wingenund, to whom we all owe a debt
of gratitude greater than we can ever pay."

" That do we indeed, Lucy," replied her bro-
ther earnestly; '* fortunate too is it that deeds of
generous self-devotion like those done by Win*
genund reward themselves, and that a debt of
gratitude to one whom ire love is a treasure, not
a load upon the breast. You remember bow a
writer, who used to be a favourite with you, has
expressed it:

'AgTEteAilmind
Bj owing^ owes not, but still pays, at ones
Indebted aad discharged.* "

"What a beautiful thought !" exclaimed Prai-
rie-bird eagerly; "tell me the book wherein I
may find it written. Such a lovely flo^^er as
that cannot surelv grow alone; there must be
others of similar beauty near it.">

" There are, indeed ; fresh, fragrant, and abun-
dant as on a western prairie in June ; ' Paradise
Lost' is the garden wherein they grow ; many
of the descriptions contained in it are among tihe
most beautiful in our language ; 1 hope ere long
to read them to and with you, dearest,^' he added
in a whisper, intended for her ear alone; " there
are some lines descriptive of Eve as she tet
appeared to Adam, which always seemed to me
exaggerated until yon taught my eye to see anc
my heart to feel their truth."

With a deep blush Prairie-bird cast her dark
eyes upon the ground, while Reginald continued
aloud, again addressing himself to Lucy :

'* Our own adventures after we crossed the
Platte river are scarcely worth relating; for,
although we had a few alarms from wandering
parties of Pawnees, Omahaws, and Dahcotahs,
our band was too strong and too well armed to
fear anything from their open attack ; and the
ever- watchful care and sagacity of Wingenund
left them no chance of jsurprising us.

"The warlike spirit and experience of bis
noble brother seemed to have descended, like
Elijah's mantle, upon the youth ; and feeling the
responsibility that attached to him as leader of
the party, he allowed himself little rest either
by day or by night, setting the watches himself,
and visiting them repeatedly at intervals to as*
certain that they were on the alert. He always
came to our camp-fire in the evening, and I ob-
served that he daily became more interested is
the conversation of our worthy friend the M»*
sionary, and more anxious to understand the
principles and truths of Christianity ; in so do-
ing he was not only foUowing the bent of bis
own amiable and gentle disposition,^ but he felt
a secret plea«are in the remembrance that he

J

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

was falfilling the last wishes of his dying broth-
er. I dare say Paul MuUer would now tell you
that he would be thankful indeed if the average
of professing Christians understood and prac-
tised the precepts of their creed as faithfully as
Wlngenund."

** That would I in truth, my son,'* replied the
Missionary ; '* neverthelew I cannot claim the
honour jf having been the instrument of the
conversion of the Delaware youth or his brother ;
it was effected, under the blessing of Heaven, by
the patient, zealous, and afiectionate exertion
of Prairie-bird." t

"Nay, my dear father, you do yourself griev-
ous wrong in so speaking," said Prairie-bird,
raproachfully ; '* and even were it as you say,
I to whom do I owe everything that I knowl
J whom have I to thank that I was not left in the
dark and hapless condition of the females by
whom I have so long been surrounded T*

The tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke,
and she pressed affectionately to her lips the
hand which her adopted father extended to her.

" Yes, my sister speaks only the truth," said
Ethelstoo, addressing .the Missionary in a voice
of deep emotion ; " we all feel how far beyond
the power of words we are indebted to you for
all that you have done for her, and we only trust
that some opportunity may be afforded us of
showing a deep, sincere, and permanent grati-
tude that we are unable to express."

Colonel Brandon, and every one of the fhmily
circle, rose as by a common impulse, and one
by one confirmed, by a silent pressure- of the
hand, the sentiment expressed by Ethelston.
The venerable man, uncovering his head, and
allowing the breeze to waive to and fro his sil-
.^ ver locks,*loo)ced for a minute upon the kindred
group before him, and thus addressed them :

" Think you not, my friends, that this scene,
these happy faces, and this happy home, might
well reward any degree or duration of :»rthly
toill But toil there has been none, for the
teaching and nurture of this sweet child has
been from the first a labour of love ; and the
only pain or regret that she has ever caused me,
is that which I now feel, when I recollect that I
must resign her into the hands of her natural
guardians, and return to my appointed task,
&e occasional troubles of which will not any
more be sweetened by her presence, nor its vex-
ations be soothed by her affection. Such, how-
ever, is the will of Him whom I serve, and far
be it from me to repine."

"Nay," interrupted Reginald, eagerly, "you
will not leave us yet. After the fatigues and
trials of this summer, you wiU surely give your-
self some repose."
4 "My son, I would gladly dwell awhile in this
pleasant and happy abode ; but I must not leave
Wingenund to contend unaided against the dif-
ficulties by whicS his present path will be beset,
the doubts and temptations which may assail
him from within, and the sneers or scorn he
may Bxperience from the more proud and vio-
lent spirits of his tribe."

" There is, however, one service that you have
promised to render before you take your depar-
tUTc from Mooshanne. Perhaps there are others
here beside myself who will urge you to its faith-
ful performance."

This bold speech threw the whole party into

momentary confosion. Prairie-biro, pretending *
to whisper to the Missionary, hid her blushing
face upon his shoulder ; the conscious eyes of
Ethelston and Lucy met ; while Aunt Mary be-
stowed upon Colonel Brandon one of those know*
ing smiles with which elderly ladies usually think
fit to accompany matrimonial allusions.

The awkwardness was of short duration, for
the mutual feelings of the parties betrothed were
no secret to any present ; and Reginald was not
of a disposition to endure unnecessary delays,
so he drew Prairie-bird with gentle force towards
her brother, and still retaining her band ip his
own, he said, " Ethelston, will you, as guardian
of your sister, consent to my retaining this fair
handl Beware how you reply, lest I should
use my influence against you in a request which
you may make to my father."

Had Ethelston/ been ignorant of his sister's
feelings, he might have read them in the ex-
pression of her blushing countenance ; but being
already in full possession of them, and meeting
a smile of approval from Colonel Brandon, ho
placed his sister's hand within that of Reginald,
saying, " Take her, Reginald, and be to her as
a husband, true, faithful, and affectionate, as
you have been to me as a friend.*''

It will not be supposed that Ethelston waited
Jong for the consent of either her father or brother
to his union with Lucy ; and Paul Miiller agreed
to remain at Mooshanne one week, at the end
of which time the double ceremony was to take
place.

While these interesting arrangements v^ere
in progress, the noise of wheels, and the tramp
of many horses, announced the approach of a
large party ; upon which Colonel Brandon, ac-
companied by the Missionary and Aunt Mary,
went to see who the new comers might be,
leaving the two young couples to follow at their
leisure. The Colonel was not long kept in sus-
pense as to the quality of his visitors, for before
reaching the house, be heard the broad accent,
of David Muir*s voice addressing Reginald's at-
tendant.

" Thank ye, thank ye, Maister Parrot," for
so did he pronounce the Frenchman's name ;
" if ye'll just baud the uncanny beast by the
head, Jessie can step on the wheel an* be doon
in a crack. There, I tauld ys so ; it's a' right
noo ; and Jessie, lass, ye need na' look sae
frighted, for your nevv gown's nae rumpled, an
Hairy will tak' the bit parcel into the house fof
ye."

" Indeed, father, I am not frightened," said
Jessie, settling the side curls under her bonnet
upon her glowing cheek, and giving the parcel
to Henry Gregson, whose hands had for ihA
moment encircled her waist as she jumped from
the wheel to the ground. Several vehicles of
various descriptions followed, containing the
spoils and baggage brought back from the prai-
ries, together with Pierre, Bearskin, and all the
members of the party who had accompanied
Reginald and Ethelston, and who now came to
ofl^r their congratulation on the events attend-
ing their safe return ; for the story c he won-
derful restoration of Ethelston's sister to her
family had already spread throughout the neigh-
bourhood, receiving as it went various addition.,
and embellishments from the lovers of the max
vellous.

I

PH

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD*

Meanwhile, Jessie Mair had gathered from
Monsieur Perrot sufficient information respect-
ing the true stat^ of afiairs, to set her mind at
rest with respect to Reginald Brandon's inten-
tions ; and encoaraged by the interest tshich the
Colonel and Lucy bad always taken in her pros-
pects, she felt a secret assurance that they
would prove powerful auxiliaries in advocating
the cause of Harry Gregson, and reconciling
ber parents to his suit. Neither was she mis-
taken in her calculation, for while the prepara-
tion for the entertainment of the numerous
guests was going forward, Colonel Brandon,
after a brief consultation with Ethelstbn, called
David Muir aside, and opened to him the sub-
ject of the youth^s attachment to his daughter.

It is difficult to say whether the surprise, or
the wrath of the merchant were the greater on
hearing this intelligence, which was not only a
death-Blow to his own ambitiovis hopes, but
was, in hie estimation, an act of unpardonable
presumption on the part of young Qregson.

•* Colonel, ye're surely no in aimest ! it*s no
possible ! Jessie, come here, ye hizzie T' said
he, stamping with anger, and raising his voice
to a louder pitch.

It happened that Jessie, being engaged in con-
▼ersation with Monsieur Perrot, did not hear his
oall, and the Colonel took the opportunity of
leading him a little further from the house.'^and
entreating his calm attention to the explanations
which he had to give. David walked on in si-
lence, his ikce still red with anger, and his heart
secretly trembling within him when he thought
of his next interview with Dame Christie.

The Colonel, who knew both the weak and
the good points of his companion's character,
dexterously ayailing hiipself of both, effisctedjn
a few minutes a considerable change in bia
views and feelings on the subject. He repre-
sented to him that Etbelston would now have a
house and establishment of his own ; that his
property was already very considerable, and,
with prudent management, would receive grad-
ual augmentation ; and that, from his attach-
ment to Qregson, it was his intention to make
the honest mate's son the managing agent of his
concerns ; to facilitate which purpose he, Colo-
nel Brandon, proposed to advance a few thous-
and dollars, and to establish the young man in
a suitable house in Marietta.

••David," continued the Colonel, »*you and I
have long been acquainted ; and I do not think
you ever yet knew me to give you counsel likely
to injure your welfare or your prospects, and
you may trust me that I would not willingly do
80 now. The young people are attached to each
other ; they may certainly be separated by force ;
but their hearts are already united. Harry is an
honest, industrious, enterprising lad ; he will
start in the world with fair prospects; every

fear will lend him experience ; and as you and
are both of us on the wrong side of fifty, we
may be very glad a few summers hence to rest
from active business, and to have about us
those to whom we can entrust our affairs with
well-placed confidence."

There was much in this speech that tended to
Koothe, as well as to convince, the merchant.
He was gratified by the familiar and friendly
axpressions employed by the Colonel, while his
ihrewd understanding took in at a rapid glance

the prospective advantages that might accrue to
the agent managing the extensive affairs of the
families of Brandon and Ethelston ; added to
this, he was at heart a fond and affectionate
father ; and the sjrmptoms of irritation began to
disappear from his countenance ; yethe scarcely
knew how to reply, and before even he meant
to speak, the name of his gude-wife escaped
fiom his lips. /

*' Leave me to manage Dame Christie," said
the Colonel, smiling. " Ethelston shaH go into
Marietta himself, and break the subject to her,
founding his request upon his regard for the eld-
er Qregson, who has served under him so faith-
fully ever since his boyhood. Come, my good*
friend, let us join the party : I do not press you
for any reply now ; but if you should detect a
stolen glance of aflTection between the young
people, do not be angry with Jessie, but think
of the day when you first went forth, dressed
in your best, to win a smile from Dame Christie."

'*Ah, Colonel, ye're speakin' of auld lang
syne now?" said the merchant, wt>ose Ol-
humour was i^o longer proof against the friendly
suggestions of his patron, though he muttered
to himself, in an undertone, as they ret!3med
towards the house, "I ken now why Maister
Hairy was aye sae fond o* the store, when the
ither lads were fain to win* awa to hunt in the
woods, or te fish in the river ! Weel a weel,
he's a douce callant, an' the lassie might aiblins
gae farther an' fare waur !"

The preparations for the entertainment were
still in progress, under the superintendence of
Aui^i^ Mary and Monsieur Perrot, the latter hav«
iog already doffed his travelling a!ttire, and as-
sumed, in his jacket of snowy white, the com-
mand of the kitchen, when Harry Qregson, who
had opened the Marietta post-bag, put a letter
into the hands of Reginald Brandon, which he
instantly knew, by the bold, careless hand-
writing, to be from his uncle Marmaduke. He
broke the seal, and read as follows : —

<* Shirley Hall, July 15.
*'Dbar Reginald,
" I have very lately received your letter, an-
nouncing your intention of making a hunting^
excursion in the west, in pursuit of bears, elk,
wolves, Indians, and other wild beasts. I hope
you'll come safe back, with a score or two of
their outlandish brushes. After you left me, I
began to feel very uncomfortable, and did not
know what was the matter, for I was cold by
night, and sulky and out of sorts by day. Parson
Williams took me in hand; but though we
drank many a bottle of old port together, and
played dr^ts, and attended several road-meet-
ings (which you know was an amusement I
had never tried before), it was all no use, and
I began to think that I was on a down-hill road
to the next world ; but, somehow or other, it
happened that I dropped in now and then to the

garsonage, and whenever I had talked half an
our with Margaret, (you remember Margaret,
the parson's daughter,) I felt in a better humour
with myself and all the world. So matters
went on, until one day I mustered courage to
ask her to come up to the hall, and change her
name to Shirley. She did so, and youi old
uncle writes with the halter round his neck.
When I married, Perkins came down from

THE PRAIRIE. BIRD.

Limdon (tiie son of my lather's aoHoitor) with a
doien bassA of parofaffiaiit, in a post-chaiwi
and made me sign my oame at least a score of
timea ; after which I desired him to draw up
two more deeds for my pleasure. These were
lor transferring to yourself, and to your sister,
a legacy left me a few years ago by an old rela-
ticm whom I had nerer seen, and whose money
I did not want. The amount is forty thousand
pounds ; so there wiH be twenty thousand
pounds a-piece for you, and you may set to work
and clear (as you used to call it) an estate as
big as the old county of Warwick. I explained
what I was about to Meg, telling lier, at the
same time, that it was a debt that I owed you
In conscience, having considercJ you for so
many years as my heir, until her plaguing black
^es made a fool of me, and threatened me with
the prospect of brats of my own. For this she
pulled my ears twice ; first, for calling her Meg
mstead of Oreta, by which name she was known
at the parsonage; and secondly, for talking
about the brats, a subject which always makes
her^cheeks redden. But T had no idea of put-
ting the reins into her hand so eariy in the day,
and I told her outright,Hhat the first boy should
be called Reginald, to please me ; and the sec-
ond might be called Greto, to please her ; and
the third might be called Marmaduke, to please
the fomily ; on which, without waiting to hear
any more, she bolted, and left me master of the
field. I ha?e just mentioned this, in order that

Su, if ever you get into a similar scrape, may
ow h<tw to behave yourself. Mr. Perkins
has completed his deeds of assignment, and has
received my instructions to transfer the money
to America by the next vessel, in bills upon
Messrs. Powell and Co. of Philadelphia ; and
tiiough I have more than once found you as
proud and as straight-laced as a turkey-cock
where money was concerned, I know that yott>
dare not, yon dog !•— I say you dare not refhse,
either for yourself or your sister, this token of
the aflectionate regard of your uncle,

"MABMVDUn SaZBLKT."

The flush th^t came over Reginald's open
countenance as he read Ais epistle from his
eceentrio but warm-hearted relative, did not
escape the watchful eye of Lucy, who was
standing near him, and she anxiously inquired
whether it contained any unpleasant intenigence.

"Read % Lucy, and judge for yourBCtf,'' he
replied, while he went to cofuniunicate its con-
tents to Colonel Brandon.

We will leave to the reader's imadnation the
mirth and festivity that reigned at Mooshanne
during that hkppy evening ; how Pierre, Bap-
tiste, and Bearsldn talked over their adventures
of ancient and of recent date ; how David Muir's
grey eye twinkled when he detected Jessie
exchanging a stolen glance with Harry Greg-
son ; how the cheers rang through the forest
when- the Colonel proposed the h&^th of Prai-
rie-bird, the long-lost child of his dearest IKend,
the bride of his only son ; and how Aunt Maiy's
sweetmeats and preserves adorned her snowy
table-cloth ; and how Monsieur Perrot had con-
trived, as if by magic, to load the hospitable
board with every swimming, flying, and rumiittg
eatable creature to be found in the neighbour-
leod, dressed is every known variety of form.

The healths of Ethelston and Colonel Brandos
had not been forgotten ; and the latter, observ-
ing a shade of melancholy upou his son's brow,
said to him aloud, '* Reginald, you have not yel
given youi (Headis a toast, they claim it of yoa
new."

Thus addressed, Reginald, reading in the
dark eyes of his betrothed, feelings kindred to
bis own, said in a voice of de^ and undisguised
emotion, " My friends, you will not blame me
if I interrupt for a moment the purrent of your
mirth, but it would be doing equal injustice* I
am sure, to your feelings and to my own, were
we to part without a tribute to the memory of
one, now no more, to whose self-devoted he*
roism Ethelston owes the life of a sister, and I
the dearest treasure I possess on earth : The
memory of my Indian brother, War-Eagle, late
Chief of the Delawares !"

The party rose in silence, every head was
uncovered, a tear trembled on the long lashes
of Prairie-bird's downcast eye, and Baptiste
muttered to himsdf, yet loud enough to be
heard by all present, as he reversed bis glass,
^ Here's to the memory of the boldest hand, the
fleetest foot, and the truest heart among the
sons of the Lenap^ !"

As the day was now drawing to a dose,
David Muir returned to Marietta, Ethelston
having promised to pay a visit to Dame Chrislia
on the following day. The Merchant was ao
^ted by the day's festivities, that he winked
his grey twinkling eye at Jessie, forgetting at
the moment that she knew nothing of the con*
versation that had passed between the Colonel
and himself; and when the youth in escorting
them homeward, warned David of sundry holes
and stumps upon the road, thereby enabling
them to avoid them, he poked his elbow into
Jessie's side, saying, " He's a canny lad, yon
Haiiy Ghregson ; what think ye, Jeissel" She
thought that her father was oraay, but she said
nothing; and a oertaki vague sensation of hope
came over her, that all was going more smoothly
for her wishes than she had dared to expect.

For the ensuing week the whole village of
Marietta was enlivened by the preparations for
the twofold wedding at Mooshaxine ; silks, rib-
bons, and trinkets without end were bought, and
there was not a settlement within fifty miles in
which the miraculous return of Reginald Bran-
don's bride was not the theme of discourse and
wonder. Paul Muller became in a few days ao
uaivers^y beloved at Mooshanne, that all the
members of the family shared in the regret with
which Prairie-bird contemiplated his approaoh-
ing departure ; and as they became more inti-
mately acquainted with him, and drew from
him the various information with which his
mind was stored, they no longer marvelled at
the education that he had found means, evenui
the wilderness, to bestow upon his adopted
ohiU. Colonel Brandon was extremely desi-
rous to make, him some present in token of the
gratitude which he in common with all his
famUy, felt towards the worthyMissionaryt and
spoke more than once with Reginald on the -
subject: hut the hitter stopped him, saying,
" My dear father, leave us to manage that, we
have entered into a secret conspiraey, and musl
entreat you not to forlnd oar canying it intaex
eeotioa.*'

2to6

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

The Colonel smiled, and promised obediencei
cnowing that those in whose hands the matter
zested, were more familiar with 'the good man's
wants and wisfies than he could be himself.

At length the week, long as it may have ap-
peared to Reginald and Ethelston, passed away,
rhe morning which united them to those whom
they had respectively lo?ed through so many
Irials and dangers, arrived ; and Paul Muller,-
having joined the hand of his beloved pupil to
the chosen of her' heart, prepared to take his
leave, when she knelt to him for his blessing.
With faltering voice and tearful eyes he gare it ;
she could not speak, but pointing to a small box
that stood upon an adjoining table, with a letter
addressed to him beside it, yielded to the gen-
tle force with which her bridegroom drew her
from the room.

Taking up the letter, the Missionary read as
follows : —

** Oh^ my beloved preceptor and father, let me
once again thank you for all your goodness and
affectionate care ! for to you, next to my Father
in heaven, do I owe all my present happiness,
and all my knowledge of that Saviour who is
my everlasting hope and trust. My heart
would sink under the thought of being separated
from you, if I did not knom that yon are return-
to my dear young brother Wingenund, to guide
and assist him in the good path that he has
chosen ; tell him again and agaiQ how dearly
we all love him, and that 0ay after day, and
night after night, he shall be remembered in his
sister's prayers.

** I am sure you will not forsake him, but will
give him your advice in teaching his Lenap6
brothers, who have laid aside the tomahawk, to
caltivate the earth, and to raise command other
nourishing food for their little ones. ' You will
also continue your favourite and blessed work
of spfeading among them; and the surrounding
tribes, the light of the (Gospel. Edward and
Reginald tell me that for these objects nearest
your heart, gold and silver can be usefully ap-
I^ed, and they desire me to entreat your accept-
ance of this box containing a thousand dollars,
one half to be expended as you may think best
for spreading Christianity among our Indian
brethren, and the other half in seeds, working-
tools, and other things necessary for Wingenund
and those who dwell with him.

" I hjope you will come and see us at least
once in every year, to tell us of the health and
welfare of Wingenund. If yod can bring hun
with you, the sight of him will make glad our
eyes and hearts.

" Farewell, dear father. Forgive the fkults in
this letter, remembering, that although I have
read so much, to you and with you, I have had
little nractice in writing, and neither Reginald
nor Edward will alter or correct one word for
me; they both smile and say it will do very
well ; perhaps it may, for, without it, you know
already how dearl>»you are loved and honoured
%j your affectionate and eyer-grat^ul,

** Pbaiixv-bibd."

SUPPLEMENTARY CHAPTER.

SoFPosnro the gentle reader to have taken
sufficient intlBrest in Prairie-bird to be desirous
•f learning something of the after fortanea gf

herself, and those connected with her, we satf*
join, a letter which accidentally came into oor
possession, and which appears to have been
written a few years subsequent to the date of
the conclusion of the preceding tale.

''BtLottia, Jane 1901, 18 —
* Dbae Ethelston,

** I have just returned from my long-promised
visit to Wingenund, whose village is situated,
as yqvL know, not far from the southern banks
of the Missouri, about one hundred miles be-
yond St. Charles's. I found there our respect-
ed and venerable friend Paul Mdlier, whose in-
tercourse with Wingenund and his band has
been for some years almost uninterrupted, and
productive of the most striking improvement,
both in the village itself, and in the character
and manners of its inhabitants. Several small
setdements of Belawares are in the neighbour-
hood, all of whom acknowledge Wingenund as
their chief; and most of them have availed
themselves, more or less, of the teaching of the
exemplary Missionary. '

" The village is situated on the side of a hill,
gently sloping to the south, along the base of
which flows a considerable stream, which, af-
ter watering the valley below, falls into the
Missouri at a distance of a few miles. The
huts, or cottages occupied by the Delawares are
built chiefly of wood ; and each having a gar-
den attached to it, they present a very neat and
comfortable appearance. That of Wingenund
is larger than the rest, having on one side a
compartment reserved entirely for the use of
the Missionary ; and on the other a large oblong
room) in which are held tbpir devotional meet-
ings ; the latter serves also the purpose of a
school-room for the education of the children.
You would be surprised at the progress made
by them, and by many of the adults, in readings
as well as in agriculture and other useful craft ;
and I must own that when my eye fell upon
their ploughs, hammers, saws, chisels, and oth-*
er utensils, and then rested on the Bibles, a
copy of which is in every dwelling, I felt a
deep and gratifying conviction, that our annual
present to Wingenund has been productive of
blessings, quite beyond our most sanguine ex-
pectations.

** I need scarcely tell you, that his reception
of me was that of a man welcoming a long-ab-
sent brother. He fell on iny neck, and held
me for some time embraced without speaking ;
and when he inquired about his dear sister Oli-
tipa, his voice resumed the soft, and almost
feminine tones that I formerly noticed in it,
when he was under the influence of strong
emotion. In outward appearance he is much
changed since you last saw him, having grown
both in breadth and height ; indeed, I am not
sure whether he is not now almost as fine a
specimen of his race as was his noble brother,
whom I never can mention or think of without
a sign of affectionate regret. Yet in bis ordi-
nary bearing, it is evident that Wingenund,
from his peaceful habits and avocations, has
lost something of that free and fearless air,
that distinguished his warrior brother. I have
learnt, however, from, Baptiste, (who, as yoa
know, insisted iipon accompanying me on thie
expedition,) that the fire of former days la sab-

THE PRAIRIE-BIRD.

SO?

\

dued, not eztingoished within him, as you will
perceive from the following anecdote, picked up
by our fHend the Goide from some of his old
acquaintance in the village.

** It appears that last autumn a band of In-
dians who had given up their lands somewhere
near Ihe head waters of the Illinois river, and
were moving westward for a wider range and
better hunting-ground, passed through this dis
trict ; and seeing the peaceful habits and occu-
paltons of the Delawares settled hereabouts,
thought that they might be injured and plun-
dered with impunity. They accordingly came
one night to a small settlement only a few
miles from here, and carried off a few score
of horses and cattle, burning at the same time
the dwelling of one of the Delawares, and Hill-
mg a young man who attempted to defend his
father's property. A messenger having brought
this intelligence to Wingenund, he collected a
score of his most trusty followers^ and taking
care that they were well armed, went upon the
trail of the marauders. He soon came up with
them; and theu: numbers being more than
double his own, they haughtily refused all par-
ley and redress, telling him that if he did not
withdraw his band they would destroy it as
they had destroyed the young Delaware and his
house on the preceding night.

'< This insolent speech uttered by the leader
of the party, a powerful and athletic iQdian,
aroused the indignation of Wingenund; his
^es flashed fire, and his followers saw tha^ the
warrior spirit of his early days was rekindled
within him. Ordering them to unsling and lev-
el their rifles, but not to fire until he gave the
word, he drew near to the leader of the party,
and in a sterd voice desired him to restore the
plunder and give up the murderer of the Dela-
ware youth. The reply was a shout of defi-
ance ; and a blow levelled at his head, which
he parried with his rifle, and with a heavy
stroke from its butt, he levelled his antagonist
on the ground ; then, swift as a panther's
spring, he leaped upon the fallen Indian's chest,
and held a dagger to his throat.

** Panic-struck by the discomfiture of thehr
leader, ahd by the resolute and determined atti-
tude of the Delawares, the marauders entreated
that his life might be spared, promising to give
all the redress required ; and on the same day
Wingenund returned to his village, bringing with
him the recovered horses and cattle, and the
Indian charged with the murder, whom he would
not allow to be punished according to the Dela-
ware notions of retributive justice, but sent him
to be tried at a circuit court, then sitting near
St Charles'. This exploit has completely es-
tablished our young friend's authority among
bis people, some of whom were, if the truth must
be told, rather disposed to despise the peaceful
occupations that he encouraged, and even to
hint that his intercourse with the Missionaiy
had quenched all manly spirit within him. You
will be surprised to hear that he has married
lita, who was for a long while so deeply attach-
ed to his brother ; even had she been the wife
of the latter, this would have been as conforma-
ble to Indian as to ancient Jewish usage. She
now speaks English intelligibly, and askod> me a
thousand questions about Prairie-bird. Fortu-

nately, sbe had chosen a subject of which I could
never weary ; and I willingly replied to all her
inquiries ; when I told her that her former mis-
tress and favourite had now three little ones,
the eldest of whom was able to run about from
morning till night, and the youngest named
Wingenund, after her husband, tears of joy and
of awakened remembrance started in her eyes.

" I understood her silent ^notion, and loved
her for it. How changed is her countenance
from the expression it wore when I first saw it !
Then it was at one moment wild and sad, like .
that of a captive pining for freedom ; at the next,
dark and piercing, like that of the daughter of
some haughty chief. Now you may read upon
her fhce the gentle feelings of the placid an£
contented wife.

** When I left the village, Wingenund accom-
panied me for many miles ; twice be stopped to
take leave of me, when some still unsatisfied
inquiry respecting your Lucy, or Prairie-bird,
rose to his lips, and again he moved on ; I can
scarcely remember that he uttered any distinct
profession of his affection for any of us, and yet
I saw that his heart was full ; and what a heart
it is, dear Edward ! fear, and falsehood, and self
are all alike strangers there ! Wben at length
we parted, he pressed me in silence against hw
breast, wrung the hand of Baptiste, and turned
away with so rapid a stride, that one who knew
him not would have thought we had parted in
anger.

" On reaching the summit of a hill whence I
could command a view of the g'ack that I had
followed, I unslung my telescope, and, carefully
surveying the prairie to the westward, I could
distinguish, at a distance of several miles, Win-
genund seated under a stunted oak with his face
buried in his hands, and in an attitude of deep
dejection. I' could scarcely repress a rising
tear, for that yoqth has inherited all the affec-
tion that I felt for hip to whom I owe my
Evelyn's life !

" Harry Gregson and his wife are very com-
fortably settled here, and appear to be thriving
in their worldly concerns. I have been several
times to his counting-house, and, from the re-
turns which he showed me, your investments
in the fur-trade, as well as in land, seemed to
have been most successful.

" Jessie's looks are not quite so youthful as
they were when she was the belle of Marietta,
but she has the beauty of unfailing good-temper,
which we Benedicts prize at a rate unknown to
bachelors. Harry has promised to pay us a visit
this autumn ; he will be delighted with the new
house t^at you have built for his father, since
his promotion to the rank of Captain.

**Perrot has found so many 'compatriots'
here, that he chatters from morning till night ;
and his wonderful adventures, by * flood and
field,' both in Europe and the Western Prairies,
have rendered him at once the lion and the ora-
cle of the tavern at which we lodge.

*' Distribute for me, with impartial justice, a
thousand loves among the dear ones in our fami-
ly circle, and tell Evy that I shall not write again,
as I propose to follow my letter in the course
of a few days.

" Now and ever your afl!bctlonate brother,

** Rboivau) Brandov '* •

!j

F

PRAIRIE FLOWER.

f"

1

THE

PRAIRIE FLOWER;

OR,

ADVENTURES IN THE FAR VEST

BY EMERSON BENNETT.

AUTHOR OP THE " BAKDITS OP THE OSAGE," "THE REKEttADE," "MIKE FINK," "KATE

CLARENDON," ETC., ETC.

But O, the blooming prairie,

Here are God's floral bowers,
Of all that he hath made on earth

The loveliest. ♦ ♦ *
This is the Almighty's garden,

And the mountains, stars, and sea.
Are nought compared in beauty,

With God's garden prairie free.

STRATTON & BARNARD:

CINCINNATI AND ST. LOUIS.

1849.

Entered, aocoiding to act of CongresB, in the year 1848,

BY BOBINSON & JONES,

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Distriet of Ohio.

THE

PRAIEIE FLOWER.

CHAPTER I.

THX PROPOSITION — TH£ RESOLVE — ^BO! FOR

OREGON.

" Ho! for Oregon — what say you, FVank
Leightonl" exclaimed my college chum,
Charles Huntly, rushing into my room,
nearly out of breath, where I was cosily
seated, with my sheefi^skin diploma spread
before me, engaged in tracing out my le-
gal right to subjoin the magical initials,
M. D., to my name. " Come, what say
you, Frank?" querried my companion
again, as I looked up in some surprise.

"Why, Charley," returned I, "what
new notion has taken possession of your
brainl"

" Oregon and adventure," he quickly
rejoined, with flashing eyes. " You know,
Frank, our collegiate course is finished,
and we must do something for the remain-
der of our lives. Now, for myself, I can«-
not bear the idea of settling down to the
dry practice of law, without at least hav-
ing seen something more of the world;
and by all means I would not settle here
in the east, where lawyers are as plenty
as stubble in a harvested rye-field, and, for
the matter of that, to make the compari-
son good, just about as much needed. You
know, Frank, we have often planned to-
gether, where we would go, and what we
Would do, when we should get our liberty;
and now th« western fever has seized me,

and I am ready to exclaim — ho! for Ore-

))

gon

" But, Charley," returned I, " consider;
here we are. bow, snug in old Cambridge,
and Oregon is thousands of miles away.
It is much easier saying, ho! for Oregon,
than it is getting to Oregon. Besides,
what should we do when therel"

"Hunt, fish, trap, shoot Indians, any
thing, every thing," cried my comrade, en-
thusiastically, " so we manage to escape
ennui, and have plenty of adventure!"

" I must confess " said I, " that I like
the idea wonderfully well — but "

" But me no buts!" exclaimed Huntly;
" you will like it —I shall like it— and we
will both have such glorious times. Col-
lege — law — pah! I am heartily sick of
hearing of either, and long for those mag-
nificent wilds, where a man may throw
about his arms without fear of punching
any body in the ribs. So come, Frank,
set about matters-^~settle up your afiTairs,
if you have any, either in money or love- —
and then follow me. Faith! man, I'll
guide you to a real £1 Dorado, and no mis-
take."

The words of my companion produced
a strong effect upon my naturally restless
mind. Nothing that he could have pro-
posed, at that moment, would have suited
my inclination better than such a journey
of adventure; and no companion would I
have chosen in preference to himself. We
had been playmates together in infancy ,

10

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

we had studied together in youth, and, for
the last four years, had been chums at old
Harvard University — he studying law and
I medicine. True, by the strict discipline
of the University, we were not entitled to
occupy the same apartment, on account
of our different studies; but the influence
of our connections made us privileged per-
sonages; and the professors winked at
many things in us, that in others would
have be?n grave offences. The substance
of the matter is, we began our studies to-
gether, roomed together, and each com-
pleted his course at the same time.

From childhood up, I had loved Charles
Huntly— or Charley, as I more familiarly
termed him — as a brother; and this frater-
nal feeling I knew he as warmly returned.
We walked together, played together, sung
together— ev«r took each other's part on j
all occasions, whether right or wron^ — {
and, in fact, for our close intimacy, were j
dubbed the Siamtse Twins. We were
both only sons of wealthy parents. My
father was a wholesale merchant in Bos-
ton; so was his; the only difference in their
occupations being, that the former dealt
in dry goods, the latter in groceries. Now
there was another strong tie between
young Huntly and myself. He had an
only sister — a sweet, modest, affectionate
creature, some three years his junior —
whom I loved with all the ardent passion
of a fiery and impetuous youth; and was,
I fancied — though at that time it was fancy
only — loved in return. Be that as it might,
my passion for his sister he knew and en-
couraged; and this, as I said before, only
added a stronger link to the chain of our
friendship.

In age, Charles Huntly was my senior
by nearly a year, and was now :a Kttle
turned of twenty-one. In stature we
.vere much alike — both being about five
feet and ten inches, with regular' propor-
tions. In complexion we differed mate-
rially — he being light, with light curly
hair; and I dark, with hair black and
straight. In personal appearance, my
friend was remarkably handsome and pre-
possessing. His beauty did not consist in
the mere perfection of features — though
tiheae were, in general, very fine — ^somuch

as in the play and expression of the whole
countenance, where every thought seemed
to make an instant and passing impres-
sion. His forehead was high and broad,
and stamped with intellect, beneath which
shone a bright, blue eye, that could spar-
kle with mirth, or flash with anger, as the
case might be. The contour of his face
was a something between the Grecian and
Anglo-Saxon, though the nose was decid-
edly of the former cast. His skin — fine,
smooth, and almost beardless — ^gave ,him
an appearance so boyish that I was often
mistaken for his senior by several years —
a matter which generally irritated him not
a little, as he had a strong repugnance to /
being thought effeminate. His tempera-
ment Was strongly neryous. At heart he
was truly noble and generous; but this, by
those who did not know him intimately,
was very frequently overlooked in his hot
and hasty temper. None was more ready
to resent an insult, or redress a wrong;
and as he was very tenacious of his own
honor, so was he of another's.^ If you in-
sulted him, you must take the conse-
quences, and the3% would not be slow to
follow, unless ample apology was made, in
which case his hand was ever open for
friendship. If he did you a wrong, and be-
came convinced of it, he could not rest
until he had sued for pardon. He was wild
at times in his notions, headstrong, hot-
brained, and, in generi^, a great enthusi-
ast. Whenever any thing new took pos-
session of his mind, it was the great all-
in-all for the time being; but was very apt
to pass away soon, and be supplied by
something equally as great, and equally as
evanescent.

Such, as I have just enumerated, were
the striking points in the appearance and
character of Charles Huntly; and though
in the latter we were much alike, yet we
seldom quarrelled, and then only to make
it up the next time we met.

Now as Charles remarked, in language
which ] have already quoted, we had of-
ten, during our leisure moments, laid out
plans of adventure for the future, when
our collegiate course should be finished.
But the plan of to-day had been always
superceded by the one of to-morrow, so

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

11

that, unless we resolved on something
steadily, it was more than probable that
the whole would result, simply, in specu-
lating visions of the brain. The last pro-
position wasi of course, the one which
opens this chapter; and which had, per-
haps, less weight wifli me at :the moment,
from my remembering the failure of all the
others. Still, there was one thing in its
favor which none of the others had had.
We had completed our studies now, and
were at liberty, if we resolved on it, to
carry our project into immediate execu-
tion, before it should become trite; and
besides, nothing before had seemed so ful-
ly to meet the views of both in every par-
ticular. Adventure was our delight in
every shape we could find it; as several
powerful admonitions and premonitorj
warnings from our tutors, for various little
peccadilloes — such as tying a calf to the
bell rope, playing the ghost to old women,
upsetting bee-hives, and robbing hen-
roosts — might well attest. But there was,
notwithstanding, a drawback, which made
me hesitate when my friend interrupted
me. He was of age, but I was not; and
my father might not be willing to give his
consent, without which I certainly would
^' not venture. Another: I loved Lilian
Huntly; and should I go and leave her,
she might get married in my absence — a
result which I felt was not to be endur-
ed.

While I sat, with my head upon my
hand, buried in thought, rapidly running
these things over in my mind, my compan-
oni stood watching me, as if to gather my
decision from the expression of my counte-
nance.

" Well, Erank," said he, at length, " it
seems yen have become very studious all
at once. How long is it going to take
you to decide on accepting so glorious a
proposition?"

" How long since the idea of it entered
your head]" I inquired.

" Ten,.fifteen, ay, (looking at his watch)
twenty minutes. I was down for the pur-
pose of getting a hack, to take us over to
the city, when the thought came across
me like a flash of lightning, and I turned
and hurried back, to "

" See me before you altered yourmind,"
interrupted I, completing his sentence^

" Confound you, Frank — wait tiU T have
done. I hurried back, I say, to let you,
share the bright prospect with me."

" Humph! prospect indeed!" said I, with,
a laugh, merely for the purpose of annoy-
ing him; for I saw, by his whole demean-
or, that he was decidedly in earnest. " And
a prospect it will ever remain, I am think-
ing, a long way ahead. You are joking,.
Charley, are you nofJ"

" No, by all the bright cupids of fairy
realms, I swear to you, Frank, my dear
fellow, I never was so serious about any
thing in my life, since the time when I
played the ghostly tin-pan drummer to the
edification of old Aunt Nabby."

" But allowing you are in earnest, you
have overlooked two important points in
asking me to accompany you."

" Ha! what are they]"

" My father, and Lilian."

" Tut, tut, tut, Frank — don't be a fool!"

"That is exactly what I am trying to
guard against, Charley. Shall I assist you
a little]",

" Pshaw! stuff! nonsence! — what have
your father and my sister to do with it I"

" Why, the first might refuse hii consent
to my going; and the last might consent
to have my place filled in my absence,"

"Well," answered Charley, " as to your
father, I will pledge you my word that he
will give his consent; and for Lilian, that
she will await your return, if it be six;
years hence."

" You will]" cried I, jumping up so sud-
denly as to upset the table on to the toes
of my companion; "you will pledge your.-
word to this, Charley]"

" A plague on that table and youx great-
haste!" muttered Huntly, hobbling about
the room, and holding his bruised foot in ,
his hand. " Yes, I will pledge you my
honor to both, if you will say the word."

"Enough! here is my hand on it," li
cried.

Down went the bruised foot, and the
next moment I felt the bones of my. fing- .
ers crack under the powerful pressure of "
those of my enthusiastic friend.

" Now, Frank," he almost shouUdrca-.

PEAIRIE FLOWER.

I

14

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

sionately. « I thought you were cold-
hearted, because you called me friend.
But I was mistaken, I see! I was expect-
ing a warmer term; but I had forgotten it
was not your place to use it first. Lilian,
dear Lilian — permit me so to call you — I
am about to go far away; and God only
knows when, if ever, I fhall return. Par-
don me, then, if I improve the present mo-
ments, and speak the sentiments of my
heart. I have known you, Lilian, from a
child; but I have known you only to love
and adore. You have been the ideal of
my boyish dreams, either sleeping or wa-
king. The perfection of divine beauty,
with me, has had but one standard — your
own sweet, faultless face and form. Every
happy thought of my existence, has some
how had a connection with yourself. I
could not picture happiness, without draw-
ing you in glowing colors, the foremost
and principal figure, I have thought of
you by day, dreamed of you by night, for
many years — have longed to be near you,
have worshipped you in secret, and yet
have never dared to tell you so till now.
Whenever tempted to do wrong, your love-
ly face has been my Mentor, to chide and
restrain me. I have loved you, Lilian —
deeply, passionately, devotedly loved you,
with the first, undefiled love of an ardent
temperament — as I never can love another.
I am about to leave, and I tell you this,
and only ask if I am loved in return. —
Speak! let your sweet lips confirm what
your looks have spoken, and I am the hap-
piest of human beings !'"*

I ceased, and paused for an answer. —
While speaking, the head of the fair being
at whose feet I kneeled, gradually, un-
consciously as it were, sunk upon my
shoulder, where it now reposed in all its
loveliness. She raised her face, crimson
with blushes and wet with tears. Her
hand, still held in mine, trembled — and
her lips, as she essayed to speak.

'< O, Francis!" she at length articulated
— then there came a silence.
" Say on, Lilian, and make me happy!"
" No, no!" she said, quickly, looking hur-
riedly around her, as if fearful of the pre-
tence of another. " No, no, Francis — not
now — some other time."

y

"But you forget, dear Lilian, that I
am about to leave you — that there may
never be a time like the present! Only
say you love me, fair one, and it is all I
ask."

"But— but " she stammered, and

then paused.

" Ha! then I have after all mistaken
friendship for love!" I returned, quickly,
starting abruptly to my feet, and feeling
some slight symptoms of indignation.

Again her soft, reproachful eye met
mine, and every angry impulse vanished
before its heavenly ray.
" You mistake me, Francis," she said.

" I — I " another pause.

Again was I at her feet, ashamed of my
hasty display of jealous temper.
" The word is trembling upon your lips,

Lilian," I exclaimed; " speak it, and "

At this moment, to my astonishment and
chagrin, the door suddenly opened, and an
elegantly dressed gentleman, some five or
six years my senior, highly perfumed with
the oil of roses and musk, took one step
over the threshhold, and then, perceiving
me, drew quickly back, evidently as much
surprised and embarrassed as myself. —
Meantime, I had sprung to my feet, with'
a whirlpool of feelings in my breast im-
possible to be described — the predomfnant
of which were anger, mortification and
jealousy. Lilian, too, had started up, and
turned toward the stranger (stranger to
me) with an embarrassed air.

" I crave pardon," said the intruder, col-
oring, "for my seeming rudeness, in ap-
pearing thus unannounced. I found the
outer door ajar, and made bold to step
within, without ringing, not thinking to
meet with any here save the regular mem-
bers of the family."

" Then you must either be a constant
visiter, or no gentleman, to take even that
liberty," I rejoined, in a sarcastic tone of
some warmth.

The face of the intruder became as
scarlet at my words, and his eyes flashed
indignantly, as he replied, in a sharp, point-
ed tone:

<*1 am a regular visiter here, sir! but
your face is new to me."
" Indeed!" I rejoined, with an expreision

OR, XDVENTORBS IN THE PAR WEST.

15

nf contempt^ turainifr my eyea upon Lilian,
«ui if for an explanation.

She was trembling with embarrassment,
and her features alternately flushing and
paling, like the rapid playings of an au-
roro hoTealis. She hastened to speak, to
cover her confusion, and prevent, if possi-
ble, any further unpleasant remarks.

" This— this—is Mr. Wharton, Francis,"
she stammered; " a gentleman who calls
here occasionally. Mr. Whar — ^Wharton,
Mr. Xieighton, an old friend of mine."

Of course the rules of good breeding
required us to bow on being thus formally
introduced to each other; and this we did,
but very stiffly, and with an air of secret
hate and defiance. That moment we
knew ourselves to be rivals, and conse-
quently enemies; for it was impossible
there should be any love between us. As
for myself, I was powerfully excited, and
indignant beyond the bounds of propriety.
Hasty, passionate and jealous in my dis-
position, I was unfit to love any one; for
to me,

" Trifles light as air,
Were confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ,"

in consequence of which, I only loved to
be miserable, and render the object loved
equally so.

I exchanged no more words with Whar-
ton, but turning to Lilian, I said, with all
the coolness my boiling blood would al-
low:

" So, then, the riddle is solved. Had
you been frank enough to have informed
me that you expected 'particular company
to-night, I should certainly, ere this, have
ridden you of my presence."

" O, Francis," cried Lilian, with an im-
ploring, reproachful look, from eyes moist
with tears; "you are mistaken! — indeed,
indeed you are!"

" O, yes, of course," I replied, bitterly,
as I coolly drew on my glove, and prepared
to take my final leave: " Of course I am,
or wasy mistaken; but I shall not be likely
to be again immediately, I presume. Fare-
well, Miss Huntlyj" I continued, coldly,
rudely extending to her my gloved hand.
'' I shall probably never see you again, as I
leave at an early hour in the morning."

ment, of sweet, heart-touching, mournfu
reproach — a look which haunted me fo
days, for weeks, for months, for years — a
look which, were I an artist, would perad-
venture be found upon every face I painted.

" Francis!" she gasped, and supk faint-,
ing and colorless upon a seat*

This, in spite of my jealous feelings,
touched me sensibly, and I was on the
point of springing to her aid, when Whar-
ton passed me for the purpose. I could
stand no more— the devil was in me — and
with a scarcely suppressed imprecation
upon my lips, I rushed out of the apart-
ment.

In the hall I met my friend Charles.

" Ha! Frank," he exclaimed, " you seem
flurried. What has happened]"

" Ask me no questions," I replied, point-
ing with my finger to the apartment I had
just quitted. " Give my kind regards to
your parents, and bid them farewell for
mo."

" But stay a moment."

" No! I must go;" and I seized my hat,
and made for the door.

" All ready for the start in the morning,
I suppose, Frank]"

" Ay, for to-night if you choose," I re-
plied, as I hurried down the steps leading
to the street.

I paused a moment, as my feet touched
the pavement, and, as I did so, heard the
voice of Huntly summoning the servants
to the aid of his sister. I waited to hear
no more, but darted away down the street,
like a madman, scarcely knowing, and car-
ing less, whither I went.

Such was my parting with Lilian Huntly.

At last I found my way home, and solt-
ly stealing to my chamber, threw myself
upon the bed — but not to sleep. I slept
none that night. My brain was like a
heated furnace. I rolled to and fro in the
greatest mental torture I had ever en-
dured.

Morn came at last, and with it Charles
Huntly, all prepared for the journey. I
eat a morsel, pointed out my trunks, sigh-
a farewell to my parents, jumped into the
carriage, and was whirled away with great
rapidity.

O, what a look she gave me at that mo- Charles looked pale and sad, and was

Id

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

not loquacious. I wanted him to talk — ^to
speak of Lilian — ^but he carefully avoided
any allusion to her. I was dying to know
how be left her, but would not question
him on the subject. I inquired how he
left the family, however, and he replied:

" Indifferently well."

" Well," sighed I, to myself, " she loves
another, so why should I care?"

Half past seven, and the rushing, roll-
ing, rumbling cars, were bearing us swift-
ly away. Fifteen minutes more, and the
city of our nativity had faded from our
view, perhaps forever.

We were speeding onward — thirty miles
per hour — westward ho! for Oregon.

CHAPTER HI.

REFLECTIOirS — THE GBEAT METROPOLIS —
THE WORLD IK MIITUTURE — THE KATIOK-
AL THEATRE — ALARM — FIRE — AWFUL
PERIL — ^PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE, ETC.

Steamboats and railroads! what mighty
inventions! With what startling velocity
they hurry us along, until even the over-
charged mind almost feels it lacks the
power to keep pace with their progress.
Whoever has passed over the Boston and
Providence route lo New York, will under-
stand me. One mile post succeeds an-
other with a rapidity almost incredible;
and ere he, who travels it for the first
time, is aware that half the distance is
completed, he finds himself in view of the
capital of old Rhode Island.

So it was with myself. I had never
been from home, and knew little of the
speed with which the adventurer is carried
across this mighty continent. I had heard
men speak of it, it is true; but I had never
realized it till now. Perhaps I was longer
on the road than I imagined. When the
heart is full, we take but little note of ex-
ternal objects, or the flight of time— time
which is bearing us to the great ocean of
eternity. My mind was oppressed and
busy. I was thinking of home, of fond pa-
rents I had left behind, and all the joys of
childhood, which I could never witness

again. A tfaousand things, m thotwand
scenes, which I had never thought of be-
fore, now crowded my brain with a vivid-
nesa that startled me. They were gone
now — forever gone! I had bid them a last
adieu. With one bold leap, I had thrown
off youth and become a man — a man to
think and act for myself. My collegiate
days, too, were over— days which memory
now recalled with sad and painful feelings.

True, my playmate, my fellow student,
my chum, my friend, was by my side. But
he, too, was sad and thoughtful. He, too,
was thinking of home and friends, the do-
mestic happy fire-side, and all that he had
left behind. His wonted gaiety, his great
flow of spirits, his enthusiasm, were gone;
and he was silent now — ^dumb as a carved
image in marble.

I gazed upon him, and my thoughts
grew heavier, sadder. He was now so like
Lilian — sweet, loved, but ah! discarded
Lilian! How could I avoid thinking of
her, when I gazed upon the pale, sad fea-
tures of her only brother! I did think of
her; of how I had left her; and now that
miles were gaining between us, I bitterly
accused myself of injustice. Why did I
leave her so abruptly, and in such a con-
dition? My heart smote me. I had wrong-
ed her — ^wronged her at the moment of
parting, and put reparation out of my
power. Why had I done so! Why did I
not part with her as a friend! If she did
not love me, it was not her fault, and I had
no right to abuse her. I had acted hasti-
ly, imprudently, unjustly. I knew it — I
fdt it— felt it keenly; and, O! what would
I not have sacrificed for one, even one,
moment with her, to sue for pardon. Alas!
alas! my reflections on my conduct had
come too late— too late.

Thus I thought, and thus I felt, while
time and progress were alike unnoted, un-
cared for. What cared I now for time? —
what cared I now for speed? My mind
was a hell of torture almost beyond endu-
rance, and I only sought to escape myself»
but sought in vain.

" Passengers for the steamboat," were
the first sounds that aroused me from a
painful revery.

I looked up with a atartf and \qI I waa

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

n

in the heart of the city, and hundreds irere
round me. The cars had ceased their mo-
tion, and one destination was gained. At
&nt 1 could not credit my senses. There
must he some mistake — we were in the
wrong city! But I was soon convinced of
my error; and found, alas! that all was too
truly, too coldly correct; for on the impulse
of the moment, I had counted on a return
to my native soil, and — and— I will not
Bay what else.

I roused my friend, who also looked
wonderingly about him as if suddenly
awakened from a dream, and heaved a long,
deep sigh — a dirge to burled scenes and
friends away. Mechanically we entered a
carriage, were hurried <o the boat, and
soon were gliding over the deep blue wa-
ters of Long Island Sound.

Early the next morning I beheld, for the
first time, the lofty spires of that great
Babylon of America, ycleped New York.
What a place of business, bustle, and con-
fusion ! What hurrying to and fro ! What
rushing, scrambling, crowding, each bent
on his own selfish end, and caring nothing
for his neighbor, but all for his neighbor's
purse ! How cold the faces of the citizens
seem to a stranger! There are no wel-
come smiles — no kind greetings — all are
wrapped up in their own pursuits; and he
feels at once, although surrounded by thou-
sands, that he is now indeed alone, with-
out a friend, save such as can be bought.

On the ocean, on the prairie, or in the
forest, man is not alone; he does not feel
alone; for he is with Nature in all her
wildness — in all her beauty; and she ever
has a voice, which reaches his inner heart,
and, in sweet companionship, whispers
him to behold her wonders, and through
her look up to the Author of all — her God
and his! But in the great city it is dif-
ferent — ^vastly different. Here all is arti-
ficial, studied, and cold; and as we gaze
upon the thousands that throng the streets,
and mark the selfish expressions on the
faces of each, we feel an inward loathing,
a disgust for mankind, and long to steal
away to some quiet spot and commune
with our own thoughts in silence.

Such were my reflections, as the rum-
bling vehicle whirled me over the pave-

ments to that prince of hotels, (in name
and wealth at least) the Astor House.—
True, I had heen bom and brought up in m
city; but still these matters had never
forced themselves so strongly upon my
mind as now. I was a stranger, in a strange
city, and, with my otherwise misanthropic
feelings, I doubly felt them in all their
force.

The window of the apartment assigned
me at the Astor House, looked out upon
that world-renowned thoroughfare, Broad-
way. Dinner over, I seated myself at thi|
casement and gazed forth. What a world
in miniature was spread before my eyes!
What a whirlpool of confusion and excite-
ment! Before me, a little to my left, was
the Park — its trees beautifully decorated
with the flowers and leaves of spring, and
its many winding walks thronged with hu-
man beings. From out its center rose the
City Hall — the hall of justice. Along one
side ran Broadway — along the other. Park
Row, but shooting oflT at an angle from the
main thoroughfare of the former — ^both
crowded with carriages of all descriptions,
from the splendid vehicle of fashion, with
its servants in livery, and its silver-trimmed
harness, down to the common dray — crowd
ed with footmen, from the prince to the
beggar, all hurrying and jostling together.
Here sauntered the lady and gentleman of
fashion, robed in the most costly apparel
money could procure, bedecked with dia-
monds and gold, sapphire and ruby; there,
side by side, on the same pavement, al-
most touching them, strolled the poor, for-
lorn, pale-faced, hollow-eyed mendicant,
partially clothed in filthy rags, and per-
haps actually dying for a morsel of food.
Great Heaven! what a comment on hu-
manity!

T have mentioned only the extremes;
but fancy both sexes — of all grades, sizes,
and nations between — and you have a pic-
ture which no city on the American con-
tinent save New York can present.

The evening found my friend and my-
self at the National Theatre — then new,
splendidly decorated, and in successful op-
eration. It was crowded almost to suffo-
cation with the dite of the city. Round-
ed arms and splendid busts, set off with

18

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

jewels — rosy eheeksj and sparklio^ ejree,
were displayed on every hand) by the be-
witching light of magnificent, glasa-tassel-
ted chandeliers. Bat of these I took lit-
tle note. My attention was fixed upon
the play. It was that impassioned crea-
tion of Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet.
My mind was judt in a condition to feel
the burniug words of the lovers in all their
forces and I concentrated my whole soul
upon it, listened every word, watched
every motion, to the exclusion of every
thing else. The first and second acts
were already over, and the last scene of
the third, the parting between the lovers,
was OB th-e stage. A breathless silence
reigned around. Every eye was fixed upon
the players — every head inclined a little
forward, to catch the slightest tones of the
speakers. Already had the ardent and un-
fortunate Romeo sighed the tender words:

** Farewell ! I will omit ho opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee j""

and the answer of Juliet,

*' D, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?"

was even trembling jon her lips — when,
suddenly, to the consternation and horror
of all, there arose the terrific cry of,
" Fire! fire! — the theatre is on fire!''

Heavens! what a scene ensued— -and
what feelings came over me! Never shall
I forget either. In a moment all was
frightful confusion, as each sought to gfain
the street. Startling shrieks, appalling
yells, and hideous groans, resounded on
all sides. Hundreds, I might say thou-
sands, rushed pell-mell to the doors, to es-
cape the devouring element, which, already
lapping the combustible scenery, was seen
shooting upward its lurid tongues, and
heard hissing, and snapping, and crackling,
in its rapid progress over the devoted build-
ing. I grasped the arm of my friend, and
cried:

" Rush, Charley, for your life!" and
sprang forward.

The next moment I felt myself seized
from behind^ and the voice of my friend
shouted in my ear:

" Hold! Prank — ^we must aavs her!"

^ Whom]"

" Yonder! See! they haw crowded her

backf— and now— great Godf the hae All-
en over imto the pit!"

I looked in the direction indicated by the
finger of Huntly, and beheld a beautiful
female, vainly struggling to reach the door.
As he spoke, a sudden rush forward crowd*
ed her back to the railing which divided
her from the excited mass of beings in the
pit. One moment she balanced on the
railing, and the next, with a cry of terror,
fell on to the heads of those below. At
any other time she would have been cared
for; but noW all were wild with terror, aind
thought only o^ themselves; and instead
of seeking to aid, they allowed her to sink
under theip feet. Save my friend and I,
no one seemed to-, heed her. With a cry
of horror, I leaped forward to rescue her
from a horrible death. But my friend was
already before me. One bound, and Charles
Huntly was among the wedged mass M"
low, and exerting all his strength to reach
the prostrate form of the lady, who was
now being trod to death under tlfe feet ^f
the rushing multitude. I would have sprang
over the railing myself, but I saw it would
be useless; one was better than two; and
I paused and watched the progress of my
friend with an anxiety better imagined
than described.

So dense was the mass, so closely wedg-
ed, that for a time all the efiforts of Hunt-
ly to reach the unfortunate creature were
vain; while the glaring light, and the *
roar of the flames, as they eagerly leaped
forward tothedome over head, rendered the
scene truly dismal and awful.

At length the crowd grew thinner, as
it poured through the open doorway; and
renewing his exertions, my friend shortly
gained the side of the unknown. He
stooped down to raise her, and I trembled
for his safety, for I saw numbers fairly
pressing upon him. With a Herculean
effort, that must have exhausted all his
animal powers, I beheld him rise to his
feet, with the fair unknown seemingly life-
less in his arms. I uttered a cry of joy,
as he staggered towards me with hia bar-
then.

" diuck! quick! this way — give her
here!" I shouted, bending over the railing
and extending my arms towards her.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

1»

Hantly staggeMd forward, and the next
moment my grasp was upon her, and she
was in my arms.

"Fly I Frank-^fast— for God's sake!
and give her air!" gasped Huntly,in a faint,
exhausted tone.

I cast one glance at her pale, lovely fea-
tures, on which were a few spots of blood,
from a contusion on the head, and then
darted over the benches to the door, bid-
ding my friend loilow, but looking not
behind.

The boxes were now empty, and the
(Soors but slightly blocked, so that I had
little difficulty, to use a stage expression,
in making my exit. The street, however,
was crowded with those jhst escaped, and
others attracted hithef by the alarm of
fire. All was excitement andf" dismay. —
Parents vfere rushing to and fro, seeking
their children — children their parents;
wives and nlaidens their husbands and lov-
ers, and vice versa.

I pushed my way through the the crowd
as best I could, with my lovely burthen in
my arms, and at length reached the oppo-
site side-walk, where I paused to rest, and,
if possible, to restore the fair one te con-
sciousness. As I began chafing her tem-
. pies, I heard a female voice shriek, in
agonizing tones:

" Good God! will no one save my child
— my only child — my daughter — the idol
of my heart!"

I looked around me, and beheld, by the
light of the burning building, a middle
aged female, richly clad, only a few paces
distant, violently wringing her hands, in
mental agony, and looking imploringly,
first at the already trembiing structfire,
and then into the faces of the by-standers,
as if in search of an answer to her heart-
rending appeal.

"Oh God! oh God! save her! save her! —
she must not, shall not die! I will gtVe a
thousand dollars for her life!"

A thought struck me. Perhaps she was
the mother of the senseless being I held;
and instantly I raised her in my arms and
darted forward.

" Is this your daughter, ladyl" I cried,
as I came up.
She looked wildly about her — one pain-

iuIglanee'^-^iKl then, with a shriek, ^rang
to and threw her armsaround the £Bir crea*
ture's neck, and burst into tears.

" God! I thank thee I" were the first ar«
ticulate words from her now quivering h'ps.
"I have got my daughter again!" and
snatching her from my arms, ^e pressed
kiss after kiss upon her lips, with all the
wild, passionate fondness of a mother. —
" Ha! is she deadi" she cried, with a look
of horror, appealing to me.

« Only fainted," was my reply, made at
a venture, for I dared not confirm my own
fears.

" Yes! yes! God be praised! — I see! I
see! She is returning to consciouaness.
But this blood— this woundl"

",A slight fall," I answered.

" And you, siiv— youl I promised a thou-
sand dollars. Here is part, and my card.
Call to-night, or to-mcfrrow, at- (I fail-
ed to catch the name) and the balance
shall be yours."

" I did not save her for money; in fact,
I did not save her at all — it was my friend,'*
I replied, taking from her extended hand
the card, but refusing the purse which ft
also held.

" And where is your friendl" she asked,
breathlessly.

Heavens! what a shock her words pro-
duced! Where was my friend, indeed! I
looked hurriedly around, among the sway-
ing multitude, but saw nothing of Charles
Huntly. A terrible thought seized me.
Pierhaps he had not made his escape! I
cast one glance at the burning pile, and,
to my consternation, beheld the flames al-
ready bursting from the roof. Had he es-
caped! — and if not — if not! — Great God,
what a thought! I waited to say, to hear
no more, but turned and rushed into the
swaying mass, shouting the name of my
schoolmate. No answer was returned. I
shouted louder — but still heard not his well
known voice. Great God! what feelings
came over me! — pen cannot describe them.
Onward, onward, still I pressed onward,
and shouted at every step— but, alas! no
answer.

At length I reached the door of the the-
atre leading to the boxes It was filled
with smoke, passing outward, through

X

29

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

which I could catch glimpses of the de-
Touring flames, und hear their awful roar.
One pause — an instant only — and with his
name upon my lips, I darted into the shak-
ing huilding. I gained the boxes, and
found the beat of the flames almost un-
bearable. They had already reached the
railing nearest the stage, and over head
had eaten through the roof, from which
burning cinders were dropping upon the
blazing benches in the pit. The smoke
was stifling, and I could scarcely breathe.
I looked down where I had last seen my
friend, and beheld a dark object on the
floor. I called Huntly by name in a voice
of agony. Metjiougbt the object stirred,
and I fancied I hoard a groan. The next
moment I was in the pit, bending over the
object. Gracious God! it was Huntly! —
From some cause he had not been able to
escape. Instantly I raised him in my
arms, and, with a tremendous efibrt, threw
him into the boxes. I attempted to fol-
low, but failed. The smoke was proving
too much for me, and the heat becoming
intense. Agaiq I tried, with like success.
I began to feel dizzy, and faint, and thought
I was perishing. I sank back and looked
up at the roof. I could see it trembling.
A few moments, and it would be upon me.
God of Heaven ! what a death !

At this moment of despair, I felt a cur-
rent of air rushing in upon me. It reviv-
ed me, and I made a third attempt to clam-
ber into the boxes. Joy! joy! I succeed-
ed. I caught hold of Charles, and, with
my remaining strength, dragged him to the
door, and into the open air. Some five or
six persons now rushed to my assistance,
and in another moment I had gained the
opposite side of the street. As I did so,
I heard a thundering noise behind me. I
turned quickly round, and no pen can de-
scribe my feelings when I understood the
cause. The roof of the building had fall-
en in, and bright sheets of flame, and
burning cinders, were shooting upward on
the dark pall of the arching heavens. I
had just escaped with my life; and if ever
I uttered a prayer of sincere gratitude to
the Author of my being, it was then.

As I stood gazing upon the remainder
of the structure, I saw the walls totter;

and ere I had time to move from the spot,
the front wall went down, with a thunder-
ing sound, and lay a pile of smoking ruins
—a part falling in, and a part outward.
The heat was *now excessive; and as I
sought to bear my unconscious friend fur-
ther from the fire, the side walls plunged
inward, leaving only the back wall stand-
ing. This now seemed to waver— totter —
and then, great Heaven! it fell outward,
upon an adjoining building, crushing in the
roof, and, as I afterwards learned, killing
one of its inmates almost instantly.

By this time Huntly had begun to re-
vive, and in a few minutes he was perfect-
ly restored — the smoke and his exertions,
only, having overcome him. He stared
around him for a moment in wonder, and
then seemed to comprehend all. Grasp-
ing my hand, with a nervous pressure, he
exclaimed:

" Thank God! we are all saved; though
I thought all was over with me. I see,
dear Frank, I owe all to you. But the
lady, Franki"

" I left her safe in the arms of her mo-
ther."

« Thank God, again, for that ! But who
is she) and where does she live?" and I
felt the grasp of Charles tighten upon my
arm.

" I know neither; but I have her mo-
ther's card here."

« Quick! quick! give it me!" cried
Huntly, with an impatience that surprised

me.

But f was mistaken; I had not the card;
it was lost; and with it, all clue to the
persons in question. With an expression
of deep and painful disappointment, my
friend turned away.

« But we may yet find them," I said;
« they were here a few minutes since."

" Where, Frank— where?"

" Yonder;" and I hastened to the spot
where I had left them; but to the disap-
pointment of myself, as well as Huntly,
they were gone.

I made inquiries of all around, but no-
body had seen, or knew any thing of
them.

" Always my luck, Frank," said Huntly,
with a sigh; and jumping into a hack, we

OK, ADVEjNTUaBS IN THE FAR WEST.

SI

were shortly aet down at the steps of the
Astor.

That niffht I dreamed of fire— of res-
cuing Lilian Huntly from the flames.

Early the next morning we were once
more upon our long journey-*Hiwiftly speed-
iag toward t^e far» .far West.

CHAPTER IV.

HIBBRNIAir-- ABRIVAL »
CIHCUIKATI — ^A FIBE — ^A FIGHT — HABBOW
SSCATB — THB JOUEBBT BESUHBD.

It was a calm, beautiful day, that found
nyself and friend on the hurricane deck
of a na^nificent steamer, and gliding
swiftly down the cahu, silvery waters of
that winding, lovely, and romantic stream,
the Ohio, or La Belle Riviere. We had
passed through Philadelphia, Baltimore,
and Pittsburgh, without stopping, and were
now speeding over the waters of this river
on our journey to the Par West. Never
had I seen a stream before so fascinating
in all its attractions. On my right was
the State of Ohio — on my left, those of
Virginia and Kentucky; and on either
hand, beautiful villages, farms, and pleasure
grounds, with tree, blade, and.flower in the
delightful bloom of a pleasant spring. —
Here was a hill clothed with trees, reach-
ing even to, overhanging, and mirroring
their green forms in the glassy tide; there
a smiling plain, stretching gracefully away
from the river's bank, teeming with the
growing products of the husbandman;
while yonder a beautiful lawn, anon a vil-
lage, or a pleasant farm house — rendered
the whole scene picturesque and lovely be-
yond description.

The longer I gazed, the more I felt my
spirits revive, until I began to resume
something of the joyoushess of by-gone
days. A similar effect I could perceive
was beginning to tell upon my friend. —
The first keen pang of leaving home was
becoming deadened. We-were now in a
a part of the world abounding with every
thing delightful, and felt that our adven-
tures had really begun. We thought of

home and friends occasionally, it is true;
but then it was only occfisionally; and
mingling with our feelings, were thoughts
of the present and glorious anticipations
for the future. We were strong, in the
^very prime of life, and bound on a journey
of adventure, where every thing being en-
tirely new^ was calculated to withdraw our
minds from the scenes we had bid adieu.
The future is always bright to the imagi-
nation of the 'young and inexperienced;
and we looked forward with delight to
scenes on and beyond the broad and mighty
prairies of the west.

« Well, Frank," said Huntly, at length,
with something of his former light-hearted
air, << what think you of this?"

'< It is superlatively beautiful," I exclaim-
ed, with enthusiasm.

" I agree with you there, Frank," he re-
plied; " but then this will all sink Into in-
significance, when we come to behold
what lies beyond the bounds of civiliza-
tion. O, I am in raptures with my jour-
ney. What a beautiful land is this west!
I do not wonder that emigration sets bith-
ward, for it seems the Paradise of earth."
'< Ay, it does indeed."
<< But I say, Frank, there is one thing
we have overlooked."
« Well, Charley, what is it?"
" Why, we must engage a servant to
look after our baggage; and so let us em-
ploy one with whom we can have a little
sport. I am dying for a hearty laugh."

" But that may not be so easy to do,"
said I.

'* Pshaw! don't you believe a word of
it. Now I have been standing here for
the last ten minutes, laying my plans, and
if you have no objection, I will try and
put them in operation."

" None at all," I returned; " but let me
hear them first."

" Do you see that fellow yonder, Frank 1"
pointing to a rather green-looking speci-
men of the Emerald Isle.
«Ido. WelH"

" Well, I am going to try him; so come
along and see the result;" and with this
Huntly strode to the stem o( the boa^,
where the son of Erin was standing, with
his arms crossed en his back, gaiing

92

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

around him with an air of wondering cu-
riosity.

He was a rare specimen of a Paddy ,iind
bore all the marks of fresh importation.
His coat was- a wool-mixed gray, with
bright metal buttons, and very short skirts.
His pants were made of a greenish fus-
tian, the upper portion pf which barely
united with a very short vest. Heavy
brogans encased his feet, and a hatj with
a rim of an inch in width', all the worse
for wear, beneath which his sandy hair
came low upon his brow, covered his head.
A large mouth, pug nose, ruddy cheeks,
and bright, cunning gray eyes, denoted
him daring, witty, and humorous. In fact,
he was Paddy throughout, dress and all;
and being a strong, hearty fellow, was just
the one to suit us.

" Well, Pat, a handsome country this,"
said Huntly, in a familiar tone, as he came
up to him.

" Troth, now, ye may well say that same,
your honor, bacring the name o' Pat, which
isn't mine at all, at all, but simply Teddy
O'Lagherty jist," replied the Hibernian,
with great volubility, in the real, rolling
Irish brogue, touching his hat respect-
fully.

" Beg pardon, Teddy — though I suppose
it makes Vittle difference to you what name
you get]"

*' Difference, is it, ye're spaking of! To
the divil wid ye^now, for taking me for a
spalpeen ! D'ye be afther thinking, now, I
don't want the name that me mother's
grandfather, that was a relation to her,
barring that he wasn't her grandfather at
all, but only her daddy, give mel'*

" O, well, then, never mind — I will call
you Teddy," said Charles, laughingj and
winking at me. " But I say, Teddy, where
are you bound!"

"Bound, is it, ye're asking! Och!" I'm
not bound at all, at all — but frae as the
biped of a. chap ye calls a toad, that St.
Pathrick (blissings. on. his name!) kicked
out o' ould Ireland, for a baastly sarpent,
an' it was."

*' Did St. Patrick wear brogans when
he kicked th« toad so far?" asked Huntly,
^avely.

*^ B.rogans^" cried^ Teddy., with, a coni-

cal look of surprise, that >iiiy one shonM
be 60 ignorant: " Brogans, ye spalpeen! —
beg pardon! your honor I mane; why he
was^ a saint, a bowly saint, ye divil — beg
pardon ! your honor— and did«'t naad the
hilp of kivering to kaap the crafihurs from
biting him."

" O, yes," said Huntly, feigning to re-
collect; " I remember now, he was a saint;
and of course he could kick any body,
or any thing, whether bare-footed or shod."
"He could do .that same— -could St.
Pathrick," replied the Irishman; " and as
asy too, as your honor could be afther
swollering a paaled praty, barring the
choking if yees didn't chaw it hand-
somely."

" A fellow of infinite jest; I like him
much," said Huntly to me, aside, with a
smile. " I must secure him — eh, Franki"

" Certainly, by all means," I replied, in
the same manner; "** for his like we ne'er
may see again."

" But if you are not bound, Teddy," con-
tinued Huntly, addressing the Irishman,
" pray tell me whither you are going."

" Faith, now, ye've jist axed a question,
which meself has put to Teddy O'Lagher-
ty more'n fifty times, widout gitting a sin-
gle straight answer."

" Then I suppose you are, like us, on a
journey of adventure."

" It's like I may be, for a divil of a thing
else me knows about it."

" Would you like to get employment?"

" Would a pig like to ate his suppher,
or a nager like to stael?' answered Teddy,
promptly.

" How would you like to engage with us
now!"

" Troth, I've done many a worse thing,
I'm thinking, your honor."

"No doubt of it, Teddy."

" But what d'ye want of me, your hon-.
or] and where to go! — for I'm liking tra-
vel, if it's all theeame to yees."

" So much the better, for we are bound
on a long journey ;" and Charles proceeded
to explain our intentions, and in what ca-
pacity the other would be wanted.

"Och I*' cried Teddy, jumping up and
cracking hia heels with< delight, to our
greiit mnsement^ ^Ut^s. that same I'd be

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

&f|her saakin^rif 7«'d a ft^d me what I
wanted."

" Think you can ahoot Indiani, eh! Ted-
dyV

" Shoot, is iti Faith, I can shoot any
thing that flies on two legs. Although I
sez it meselC what shouldn't, but let xne
mothw for me, I'm the greatest shooter ye
jrer knew, I is/'

<< Indeed! I am glad to hear it, Teddy;
for I presume we shall have plenty of
shooting to do. But what did you ever
kilJ, Teddy]"

"Kill, isiti Troth, now, ye're afther
heading me wid your cunning."

« Well, then, what did youshooti"

" A two-legged bir-r-d, your honor."

" Well, you killed it of course]"

"Killed it! Agh! now ye're talking.
Faith, it wouldn't die. I shot it as plain
as daylight, right fornenst the back-bone
of its spine; and would ye belave it, divil
of a shot touched it at all, at all — the ugly
baast that it was."

"Well, well, Teddy, I think you will
do," said Huntly, laughing; and forthwith
he proceeded to close the bargain with the
Irishman.

Our trip proved very delightful, and
in due time we arrived at Cincinnati,
where it was our design to spend at least
a day. It was a beautiful morniag» when
we rounded the iirst bend above the city,
and beheld the spires of this great west-
ern mart glittering in the sunbeams. The
levee we fjund lined with boats, and
crowded with drays, hacks, and merchan-
dise; and every thing bespoke the life
and briskness of immense trade. Ta-
king rooms at the Broadway Hotel, we
sauntered forth to view the city^ and even-
ing found us. well pleased with our day's
ramble.

It was about eleven o'clock the night of
our arrival, that, having returned from a
concert, we we were preparing to retire to
rest, when the alarm of fire, accompanied
by a bright light, which shone in. at our
windows, attracted our attention.

" Ha! here is another adventure, Char-
ley," I exclaimedi replacing my «oat, which
I was in the act of taking from my shoul-
ders. " Come, once more forth) and. let. us

see what we can discover thst is new and
startling — for to-morrow, you know, w«
leave."

" Not to-night, Frank," answered' Hunt-
ly* yawning and rubbing his eyes. " I'-
faith, man, I've seen enough of fire to last
me for a long time; and O, (yawning
again) I am so sleepy."

** Then I will go alone."

" Well, go; for myself, I'll to-bed and
dream about it. But I say, Frank," pursued
Huntly, as I was on the point of quitting
the room, " have you secured your pistols
about you?"

" No."

" You had better."

"Pshaw! I do not want them: I am
not going to fight."

" Nevertheless you had better go armed,
in a strange place like this."

" Nonsense," I replied, closing the door,
and hurrying down a flight of stairs, and
into the street.

A thought struck rae, that I would take
Teddy along; but upon second considera-
tion I resolved to go alone.

There was but little difficulty in finding
the fire, for a bright flame, shooting up-
ward on the dark canopy above, guided roe
to it. Passing up Broadway to Sixth
street, I turned down some fo*ir or five
squares, and discovered the fire to proceed
, from an old, two-story wooden building,
which had been tenanted by two or three
families of the pooret class. At the mo-
ment when I arrived, four engines were in
active play, and some two or three others
preparing to join them. The water was
not thrown upon the burning building— for
that was already too far gone — but upon
one or two others that nearly joined, which
were smoking from the heat. Many
household articles had been thrown into
the street, and these were surrounded by
the fire-watch; while an Irishihan and his
wife, with a daughter of sixteen, were run-
ning to and fro, and lamenXing in piteous
tones the loss of their home and property*

"Och! howly mither of Mary! was the
like on't iver saan]" cried the matron,
some forty-five years of age, whose tidy
dress bespoke her a. rather thrifty house-
wife..

S4

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

" Hirer, since the flood," blabbered her
husband, dolefully.

" What an infintion is fire!" again cried
the mother.

"Tirrible crathur it is," rejoined the
daughter.

^ Och, honey, don't be despariog now!"
said a voice, which I fancied I recognized;
and turning toward the speaker, to my as-
tonishment I beheld Teddy, in the laudible
act of consoling the afflicted damsel.

"Teddy!" I shouted.

" Here, your honor," returned the Hi-
bernian, looking around in surprise, and
advancing to me with an abashed look.

" What are you doing here, Teddyl" I
continued. "I thought you were at the
hotel, and asleep."

*< Faith! and it*s like I thought the same
of your honor, barring the slaap," rejoined
the Irishman, scratching his head. "I
seed the fire, your honor, and I thought as
maybe tbere'd be some females that'd
naad consoling; and so, ye see, I gathered
meself hitherward, as fast as me trotters
would let me."

" And so you make it your business to
console females, ehl" I asked, with a smile
which I could not repress.

« Faith, now," answered Teddy, «* if it's
all the same to yourself, your honor, I'm a
female man, barring the dress they wears."

** Well, well," said I, laughing outright
in spite of myself, " go on in your good
work— but mind you are at your post be-
times in the morning, or you will be left
•behind."

"It's meself that'll not forgit that
same," answered the other, as he turned
away to rejoin the party in distress, and
add his consolation.

At this moment I felt myself rudely
jostled from behind, and, turning quickly
round, found myself hemmed in by a crowd,
in which two men were fighting. I en-
deavored to escape, and, in doing so, acci-
dentally trod on the foot of a stranger,
who turned furiously upon me, with,

" What in (uttering an oath) do

you meani"

** An accident," said I, apologetically.

" You're a liar!" he rejoined; " you did
it a purpose."

I never was remarkable for prudeaee at
any time, or I should have been more cau-
tious on the present occasion. But the
insulting words of the stranger made my
young blood boil, until I felt its heat id
my face. Without regard to consequences
and ere the words had fairty escaped his
lips, I struck him a blow in the face, so
violent that he fell back upon the ground.

" Another fight!" cried a dozen voices
at once: "Another fight! hurrah!"

In a moment I regretted what I had
done, but it was too late. I would have
escaped, but the crowd had now formed
around me so dense, that escape was im-
possible. Besides, my antagonist, regain-
ing his feet, his face covered with blood,
was now advancing upon me furiously. —
There was no alternative; and watching
my opportunity as he came up, I dexter-
ously planted the second blow exactly
where I had the first, and down he went
again.

" A trump, by !" " Give it to him,

stranger!" " He's a few!" were some of
the expressions which greeted me from
the delighted by-standers.

But I had short time to enjoy my tri-
umph— -if such a display of animal powers
may be termed a triumph — for the next
moment I beheld my adversary again ap-
proaching, but more warily than before,
and evidently better prepared for. the com-
bat. I was not considered a bad^ pugilist
for one of my age, nor did I in general fear
one of my race; but as I gazed upon my
advancing foe, I will be frank to own that
I trembled for the result. He was a pow-
erfully built man, six feet in stature,
had a tremendous arm, and an eye that
would quail before nothing mortal.

" By — ! young chap," he exclaimed,
as he came up, " you've done what nobody
else has of latter years. Take that, and
see how you'll like it;" and with the word
he threw all his strength into a V low, that
fell like a sledge hammer.

I saw it, and prepared to ward it. I did
so, partially, but its force broke my guard,
and his double-jointed fist alighting upon
my head, staggered me back and brought
me to my knees. With all the suppleness
I was master of, I sprang to my feet, only

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

25

to receive another blow, which laid me out
upon the flinty pavement. For a moment
I was stunned and confused; but regain-
ing my senses and feet, I prepared to re-
new the contest.

" I say, stranger," said my antagonist,
motioning his hand for a parley, '* you're
good blood, but you haint got quite enough
of the metal to cope with me. You're
only a boy yit, and so just consider your^
self licked, and go home, afore I git can-
tankerous and hurt you a few." ^

But I was not in a condition to take his
advice. True, I was bruised and fatigued,
and should have rested satisfied to let the
affair end thus. But my worst passions
had now got the better of my reasoning
powers. I fancied I had been insulted,
disgraced, and that nothing but victory or
death could remove the stigma. I saw
some of the spectators smile, and some
look pityingly upon me, and this decided
my course of action. My temper rose,
my eyes flashed, and my cheeks burned, as

I thought of the insulting words of the

other.
" Some men live by bullying," I replied,

pointedly; ^* and I suppose you are one of

them; if not, you will keep your advice

till one of us is the victor."
My opponent looked upon me with a

mingled expression of surprise and rage.
" Fool!" he cried, " do you dare me again

to the fight3 By ! PU whip you this

lime or die!"
"Make your words good," I retorted,

springing forward, and pretending to aim

a blow at his head.
He prepared to ward it, and, in doing so.

and clung there with the tenacity of a
drowning man to a rope. He made a des-
perate eflbrt to bring me under, but still I
maintained my position. The force of my
grasp now began to tell upon him. He
strangled, and I could sensibly perceive he
was growing weaker. At length, just as
I was about to relax my hold, for fear of
choking him to death, he suddenly threw
up one hand, hurried it in my hair, twined
a long lock around his finger, and the next
moment placed his thumb to my eye, with
a force that seemed to start the ball from
its socket.

Great Heaven! what a feeling of horror
came over me! I was about to Ibse an
eye — be disfigured for life. Death, I fan-
cied, was preferable to this; and instantly
releasing his throat, I Bei2ed his hand with
both of mine. This was exactly what he
desired; and the next moment I found my-
self whirled violently upon my back on
the rough pavement, and my antagt>nii?t
uppermost. 1 attempted to recover my
former advantage, but in vfiin. My adver-
sary was by far too powerful a man. —
Grasping my throat with one hand, with
such a pressure that every thing began to
grow dark, he partly raised himself, plant-
ed a knee upon my breast, and with the
other hand drew a long knife. I just caught
a glimmer of the blade, as he raised it to
give me a fatal stab; but I was too ex-
hausted and overmastered to make any re-
sistance; and I closed my eyes in despair,
and felt that all was over.

Suddenly I heard the voice of Teddy,
shouting:
" To the divil wid ye, now, for a blath-
left his abdomen unguarded. He saw his ering spalpeen, that ye is!" and at the same
mistake, but too late to retrieve it; for moment I felt the grasp of my opponent

instead of striking with my fist, I only
made a feint, and doubling with great dex-
terity, took him with my head just below
the pit of the stomach, and hurled him
over backwards upon the ground. He
threw out his hand, caught me as he fell,
and drew me upon him.

Now came the contest in earnest. I
had a slight advantage in being uppermost;
but how long it woukl last was doubtful;
for throwing his arms around, he strove
to turn me.

leave my throat, and his weight my
body.

With my remaining strength I rose
to a sitting posture, and saw Teddy dan-
cing around me, flourishing a hickory she-
lalah over his head in the scientific man-
ner of his countrymen, and whooping,
shouting, and cursing, in a way peculiar
to himself.

By some means he had been made aware

of mv danger, and, like a noble fellow, had

i seized him by the throat,) rushed into the crowd and felled my ad-

3

"-■»

26

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

Tersary, with a blow so powerful that he
still lay senseleag upon the ^ound.

" And who are you, that dares thus to in-
terfere?" cried avoice in the crowd, which
found immediate echo with a dozen others.

" Who am I, ye blaggardsV* roared Ted-
dy: " Who should I be but a watchman,
ye dirthy scuU-muUions, yees! Come,"
he cried, seizing me by the collar, " ye'll
git a lock-up the night for this blaggard
business of disturbing the slumbers of
honest paaple afore they've gone to bid,
jist."

I saw his ruse at once, and determined
to profit by it, and make my escape. To
do this, I pretended of course that I was
not the aggressor, and that it was very
hard to be brought up before the Mayor for
a little harmless fun.

<< Harmless fun!" roared the cunning
Irishman. " D'ye calls it harmless fun,
now, to have your throat cut, ye scoundrell
Come along wid ye!" and he pretended to
jerk me through the crowd, which gave
way before him.

We had just got fairly clear of the mass,
when we heard voices behind us shouting:

" Stop ^em! stop 'em! — he's no watch."

" Faith, they're afther smelling the joke
whin it's too late," said Teddy. "But
run. Your honor, or the divils will be howld
of us."

I needed no second prompting; and
with the aid of the Irishman, who partial-
ly supported me — for I was still weak — I
darted down a dark and narrow street. For
a short distance we heard the steps of
pursuers behind us, but gradually one after
another gave up the chase, until ai last we
found our course left free.

It would be impossible for me to picture
the joy I felt at my escape, or my grati-
tude toward my deliverer. Turning to the
Irishman, I seized his hand, while my eyes
filled with tears.

" Teddy," I said, " you have saved my
life, and I shall not soon forget it."

"Troth, your honor," replied Teddy,
with a comical look, " it was wor-r-th pre-
sarving — for it's the best and ounly one
yees got."

I said no more, but silently slipped a
j^old coin into his hand.

" Howly mother! how smooth it makes
a body's hands to be buthered," observed
the Irishman, as he carefully hid the coin
in his pocket.

Deep was the sympathy of Huntly for
nae, when, arrived at the hotel, I detailed
what had occurred in my absence; and as
deep his gratitude to the preserver of my life.

" Frank," he exclaimed, grasping my
hand, " henceforth you go not alone, in the
night, in a strange city."

The next day, though stiff and sore from
my bruises, I found myself gliding down
the Ohio on a splendid steamer, bound for
St. Louis, where in due time we all ar-
rived without accident or event worthy of
note.

CHAPTER V.

THE PRAIRIE— SUNSET SCENE— REFLtCTIOlTS

OUR FIRST CAMP — COSTUME— -SQUriF-

MENTS — THE TRAPPERS, ETC.

The prairie! the mighty, rolling, and
seemingly boundless prairie! With what
singular emotions I beheld it for the first
time! I could compare it to nothing but
a vast sea, changed suddenly to earth, with
all its heaving, rolling billows. Thou-
sands upon thousands of acres lay spread
before me like a map, bounded by nothing
but the deep blue sky. What a magnifi-
cent sight! A sight that made my soul
expand with lofty thought, and, its frail
tenement sink into utter nothingness be-
fore it. Talk of man — his power, his
knowledge, his greatness — what is he] A
mere worm, an insect, a mote, a nothing,
when brought in compare with the grand,
the sublime in nature. Go, take the
mighty one of earth — the crimson-robed,
diamond-decked monarch, whose nod is
law, and whose arrogant pride tells him
he rules the land and sea — take him, bring
him hither, and place him in the center of
this ocean of land— far, far beyond the
sounds of civilization — and what does he
becomel Talk to him then of his power,
his greatness, his glory; tell him his word
is law — to command, and he shall be obey-
ed; remind him of his treasures, and tell
him now to try the. power of gold! What
would be the result? He would deeply

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

27

feel the mockery of your words, and the
Dothingness of all he once valued; for,
alas! they would lack the power to guide,
to feed, or save him from the thousand
dangers of the wilderness.

Similar to these were my thoughts, «i I
stood alene, upon a slight rise of ground,
and overlooked miles upon miles of the
most lovely, the most suhlime scene I had
ever beheld. Wave upon wave of land,
if I may be allowed the expression, stretch-
ed away on every hand, covered with beau-
tiful, green prairie-grass, and the bloom-
ing wild flowers of the wilderness. Afar
in the distance I beheld a drove of buffa-
lo quietly grazing; and in another direc-
tion a stampede of wild horses, rushing
onward with the velocity of the whirling
car of modern days. Nearer me I occa-
sionally caught glimpses of various other
animals; while flocks of birdB,.of beauti-
ful plumage, skimming over the surface,
here and there alighting, or starting up
from the earth — gave the enchantment of
life and variety to the picture.

It had been a beautiful day, and the sun
was now just burying himself in the far
off ocean of blue, and his golden rays were
streaming along the surface of the wav-
ing grass, and tinging it with, a delightful
hue. Occa^onally some elevated point,
like the one on which I stood, caught for
a moment his fading rays, and shone like a
ball of golden fire. Slowly he took his
diurnal farewell — as if loth to quit a scene
so lovely — and at last hid himself from my
view beyond the western horizon. Then
a bright, golden streak shot up toward the
darkening dome of heaven, and, widening
on either hand, gradually became s\yeetly
blended with the cerulean blue. Then
this slowly faded, and took a more crim-
son color; then more purple; until, at
last, a faint tinge showed the point where
the sun had disappeared, while the stars
began to appear in the gray vault above.

I had stood and marked the whole
change with that poetical feeling of plea-
tant sadness which a beautiful sunset rare-
ly fails to awaken in the breast of the lover
of nature. I noted every change that was
going on, and ^et my thoughts were far,
far away,in my native land. I was think-

ing of the hundreds of miles that separa-
ted me from' the friends I loved. I was
recalling the delight with which I had,
when a boy, viewed the farewell scenes of
day from some of the many romantic hills
of old New England. I pictured the once
cheerful home of my parents, which I had
forsaken, and which now peradventure was
cheerful no longer, in consequence of my
absence. ' I fancied I could see my mother
move to the door, with a slow step and
heavy heart, and gaze with maternal af-
fection toward the broad, the mighty west,
and sigh, and wonder what had become of
him who should have been the stay and
support of her declining years. I thought,
and I grew more sad as I thought, until
tears filled my eyes.

Mother! what a world of affection is
compressed in that single word! How lit-
tle do we, in the giddy round of youthful
pleasures and folly, heed her wise coun-
sels! How lightly do we look upon that
jealous care with which she guides our
otherwise erring feet, and watches with
feelings which none but a mother can
know, the gradual expansion of our youth
to the riper years of discretion! We may
not think of it then, but it will be recalled
to us in after years, when the gloomy
grave, or a fearful living separation, has
placed her far beyond our reach, and her
sweet voice of sympathy and consolation
for the various ills attendant upon us,
sounds in our ear no more. How deeply
then we regret a thousand deeds that we
have done contrary to her gentle admoni-
tions! How we sigh for those days once
more, that we may retrieve what we have
done amiss, and make her sweet heart
glad with happiness. Alas! once gfone,
they can rarely be renewed — and w^ irrow
mournfully sad with the bitter reflection.

My mother — my dearly beloved mother
— would I ever behold her airnin! —
Should I ever return to my native land,
would I find her amonor the living! If not —
if not! Heavens! what a sad, what a, pain-
ful thought! and instantly T found my eyes
swimming in tears, and my frame trem-
bling with nervous agitation. But I would
hope for the best; I would not borrow
trouble; and gradually I became calm. —

I ♦

28

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

Then I thought of' my father — of many
other dear friends — and, lastly, though I
strove to avoid it, I *thought of Lilian —
sweet, lost, but ah! dearly loved Lilian.
I could see her gentle features, I could
hear her plaintive voice — soft and silvery
as running waters — and I sighed, a long,
deep sigh as I thought. Would I ever be-
hold Jier again] I might, but — (my blood
ran cold) but — wedded to another. "Ay!
wedded to another!" I fairly groaned aloud,
with a start that sent the red current of
life swiftly through my veins.

I looked around me, and found it already
growing dark. The beautiful scene I had
so lately witnessed, was now faded from
my sight; and the gloomy howl of a dis-
tant pack of wolves, reminded me that I
was now beyond civilization, in the wilder-
ness of an extensive prairie. I looked
downward, and within a hundred yards of
me beheld the fire of our first camp on
the prairie; and with a hasty step I de-
scended the eminence and joined my com-
panions.

" Ah! Frank," said Huntly, as I came
up, " I was beginning to fear something
had happened you, and you can easily im-
agine my feelings. Why did you absent
yourself so long?'

" I was on yonder eminence, enraptured
with the glories of the sunset scene," I
replied, somewhat evasively.

" Ah! was it not a splendid sight!" he
rejoined, enthusiastically, with sparkling
eyes. " I too beheld it with rapture, and
regretted that you were not by to sympa-
thise with me in my poetical feelings. —
But eome, supper is preparing, and so let
us regale ourselves at once, and afterward
take our first sleep in this magnificent
wild."

As I said before, this was our first camp
on the prairie. On our way hither we
had joined a party of four hunters or trap-
pers, and in consequence our number was
now augmented to seven. We had thrown
off the lighter and more costly apparel of
the settlements, and were now costumed
in the rougher garments worn by the hunt-
ers of the Rocky Mountains. This con-
sisted tif a frock or hunting shirt, made of

long and parti-colored fringes. Our nether
garments were of the same material, or-
namented in the same manner, and on our
feet were moccasins. Round the waist of
each was a belt, supporting a brace of pis-
tols and a long knife, the latter in a sheath
made of buflfalo-hide. A strip of leather
passing over our right shoulders, suspend-
ed our powder horns and bullet pouches
under our left arms. In the latter we car-
ried flint and steel, and small etceteras of
various kinds, that had been mentioned as
being useful where we procured our fit-out.
Among other things, we had taken care to
secure plenty of ammunition, tobacco and
pipes, together with an extra supply of ap-
parel for the cold regions toward which
we were journeying, all of which were
snugly stowed away in our large buffalo-
skin wallets — called by the trappers " pos-
sibles," or " possible sacks" — which were
either attached to or thrown across oury
saddles. ^

In the description just given, I have

I

been speaking of our party alone — name-
ly, Huntly, Teddy and myself — without re-
gard to the trappers, who, were costumed
and equipped much like ourselves, with the
exception that instead of horses their ani-
mals were mules; and in place of one
apiece, they had three. They, however,
were bound on a regular trapping expedi-
tion, and carried their traps with them,
and took along their mules for furs; whi^e
we, going merely on adventure and not
speculation, had only taken the animals
upon which we rode. Our horses and ap-
pendages, what we had, were all of the
finest description; and our long, silver-
mounted rifles drew many a wistful look
from our newly made companions. In
joining them, our chief object was to learn
their habits and customs in the wilderness,
before we ventured forth upon our own
resources; and by being somewhat liberal
in supplying them with tobacco and many
small things of great value to the trapper,
we secured their friendship and favor at
once. y

The trapper of the Rocky Mountains is
a singular being. Like the boatman of the
river, the sailor of the ocean, or the scoat

dresddd biickskin, and ornamented with I of the forest, he has peculiar characteristics.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

20

^

both as regards manners and dialect. Con-
stantly exposed to danger and hardship,
he becomes reddest of the one and indif-
ferent to the other. His whole life, from
beginning to end, is a constant succession
of perilous adventures; and so infatuated
does he become with the excitement at-
tendant upon these, that, confine him in a
settlement, and he will literally pine to
death for his free mountain air and liberty
to roam as he lists.

'There is no polish, no sickly, sentimen-
tal refinement in his manners and conver-
sation — but, on the contrary, all is rude,
rough, blunt, and to the point. When he
says a thing, he means it; and, in* general,
has but little deceit. With death he be-
comes so familiar, that all fear of the dread
king of mortality is lost. True, he clings
to life with great tenacity — but then there
is no whimpering and whining at his fate.
When he finds his time has come to go, he
stands up like a man, and takes the result
with the stoicism of a martyr. He is fre-
quently a great boaster, and, like tSie sail-
or, delights in narrating strange , tales of
his wonderful adventures and hair-breadth
escapes. In his outward behavior, he is
often sullen and morose; but, as a gener-
al thing, his heart is in the right place. —
He will kill and scalp an Indian foe, with
the same indiflference and delight that he
would shoQt a bear or deer — and yet you
may trust your life and money in his hands
with perfect safety. In fact, I may say,
that his whole composition is a strange
compound of odds and ends — of inexplica-
h^e incongruities — of good and evil.

Until within the last few days, I had
never seen a trapper; and of course he
was to me and my companions as great an
object of curiosity, as would have been the
aborigine himself. The four which we
had joined, were genuine, bona fide speci-
mens of the mountaineers. Each had seen
much service, had been more or less upon
trapping expeditions, and one had actually
grown gray in the hardy life of the wilder-
ness. Each had trapped on his own hook
and for others, and had scoured the coun-
try from the upper regions of Oregon to
the Mexican latitude — from the States to
the Pacific ocean. They were acquainted

with the land in every direction — ^knew all
the regularly organized fur companies — all
the trading forts and stations — and conse-
quently were just the men to initiate us
into all the peculiarities of the wilderness,
all the mysteries of the trapper's life, and
excite our marvellous propensities by their
startling and wonderful tales. They glo-
ried in the soubriquets of Black George,
Rash Will, Fiery Ned, and Daring Tom —
appellations which had been bestowed on
them for some peculiar look in their per-
sons, or trait in their characters.

The first mentioned, Black George, was
the eldest of the party, and had doubtless
received his cognomen from his dingy
complexion, which was but little removed
from the sable son of Africa. Naturally
dark, his skin had become almost black
from long exposure to the weather. In
height he was fully six feet, gaunt and
raw-boned, with great breadth of should-
ers, ponderous limbs and powerful muscles,
which gave him a very formidable appear-
ance. Although approaching sixty, his
vigor seemed not the least impaired by age.
His coarse hair, once black, was now an
iron gray. His face was thin and long,
with high cheek bones, pointed nose, hol-
low cheeks, large mouth, and cold, gray
eyes. The wonted expression of his coun-
tenance was harsh and repulsive, though
occasionally lighted with a humorous, be-
nevolent smile. He was generally liked
and respected by the whites, but hated and
feared by the Indians, of whom he was a
mortal enemy, that seldom failed to take
their " hair"* whenever opportunity pre-
sented.

The next in order. Rash Will, as he
was denominated, was a stout, heavy built
man, somewhat above the medium stature,
and about forty years of age. He had a
large Roman nose and mouth, thick lips,
low forehead, and blue eyes. The gener-
al expression of his physiognomy was a
blunt, straight-forwardness, without regart'
to consequences. He could do a goo(i
deed or an evil one; and if he could justi-
fy the latter to himself, he cared not a
straw for the opinions of others. Head-

Scalp.

30

THE PRAIRIE TLOWER;

strong and violent when excited by anger,
he had been the author of some dark deeds
among the savages, which fully entitled
him to the appellation of Rash Will.

The third in order, Fiery Ned, was
about thirty-five years of age, of a robust,
handsome form, some five feet ten inches
in height, and fully developed in every
part. His features were comely and pre-
possessing. The only marked points of
his countenance were his eyes— which
were small, black, restless, and piercing—
and his forehead, which was high and am-
ple. His temperament was ardent, pas-
sionate, and fiery. At times he was cool,
frank and generous,' but at others, espe-
cially in an Indian fight, he became wild,
furious, and, in short, a perfect devil*

The last of the four. Daring Tom, was
the youngest and the most to my liking of
any. He was about thirty years of age,
and of middling stature. Unlike his com-
pc^nions, his features were very fine, al-

J lost efiTeminate, with a mild, dignified ex-
ression, that instantly won the regard of
all with whom he came in Contact. He
had a large, full, clear blue eye, which
rarely varied in expression, be the circum-
stances what they might. Cool and col-
lected at all times, he was never mpre so
than when surrounded by imminent dan-
ger. There was no risk he would not run
to serve a friend, and on no occasion had
he ever been known to display the least
sign of fear — hence was he called Daring
Tom.

Such is an outline sketch of the trap-
pers who had now become our companions;
and probably take us all together, there
was not in the whole broad west another
party of the same number, that could pre-
sent a more formidable appearance, or per-
form greater feats in the heat of contest.
At the moment when I came up to the
fire, each of the trappers was seated beside
it on the ground, cross-legged, engaged in
toasting slices of a fat buck, which one of
them had killed and brought in not an hour
before. They were talking away briskly
all the while, telling some wonderful tale,
or cracking some joke, to the great amuse-
ment of Teddy O'Lagherty, who, a little
apart, was seated in a similar manner to

themselves, and listening attentively , with
mouth and eyes widely distended. A lit-*
tie distance from the fire, our hobbled ani^
mals were quietly cropping the luxuriant
herbage beneath them.

" So then, Chafley," I said, after having
taken a general survey, " I suppose we are
to fatten on deer meat!"

" Deer meat and salt," he replied, with
a laugh. " The fancy preparations of civi-
lisation will regale us no longer, and we
may be thankful if we always get fare as
good as this."

While saying this, Huntly bad drawn
nearer the fire, so that the last remark
caught the ear of Black George, who was
just on the point of enforcing some asser-
tion with an oath, but who suddenly stop-
ped short, and turned to him with a comi-
cal look.

" See heyar, young chap, didn't I hearn
you say you was from Bo^son, or some
sich place in the States]'*

"Doubtless," answered Huntly, "for
that, I am proud to say, is my native city."

« O, it*s a city, then. Big's St. Louey
hey]"

" Much larger."

" Do say! Why then it's some, I reck-

»>

ons.
" A very ftourishing place."

" Hum! You was born to Bosson]"

" Ay, and bred there."

" Bread? O, that means you was fodder-
ed thar, spose]"

" Yes, brought up and educated there."

" Edicated — augh! Heyar's what never
did that; never had no need on't; know
how to shoot and trap, but can't make pot
hooks; can't tell 'em when they is made;
know they's spme, though, and wouldn't
mind I know'd 'em a few — but don't care
much no how; couldn't live no longer for't;
couldn't * float my sticks'* no better, spect.

• That is, couldn't get along any better. This
is a common expression among the trappers, and
its meaning depends altogether upon the sense in
which it ia used It is derived from their occu-
pation. A " stick" is attached to each trap by a
string, and if the beaver runs away with the trap»
the stick, floating on the surface of the water, in-
dicates the whereabouts of the animal, and en-
ables the trapper to recover his property.

OR, ADVENTURED IN THE PAR WEST.

31

Well, for a younker, you've had a right
smart chance, and I spose know a heap.*
Heyar'B what's born way down to Arkan-
saw, on a swamp patch, that didn't yield
nothia worth divin for. I's raised down
thar, or bread, as yon calls it, young Bo9«>
son, (spose you've got no objection to be-
in called arter your natyve city) though
almighty poor bread I was, for I didn't git
much on't for a spell — in fact till I'd near-
ly gone underf — augh! Let's see, whar
was 11 O, you's saying sumthin 'bout
bein thankful for sich fare's this. Ittickied
me a heap— i^ did — and I had to in'ardly
hold on tight to my ribs, to keep frum guf-
fawin g. Why , young Bossoners , (address-
ing both of us) ef you'd seen what I hev,
a piece like that thar, (pointing to the
meat on the end of his stick, which he
was toasting at the fire,) would a bin a
heaven on arth, and no mistake. Talk
about bein thankful for sich fare's this!
Wait till you've seen your boss go under,
and the last end o' the eatable parte' your
possibles chawed up, and then talk."

Here the old man paused and chncklf>«d
heartily, and winked at his companions,
who joined him in his merriment, to the
utter consternation of poor Teddy, who,
with mouth wide open, and eyes enlarged
to their utmost capacity, simply exclaimed:

** Howly murther! what a baastly time
on't yees had!"

"I suppose you have seen some very
rough times .<" I rejoined, anxious to draw
the old man out in some of his wonderful
tales of adventure.

" Well I has, boss," was the quick re-
spose; " and ef you want to make folks
stare in the States, you'd better jest jog
down one I've a notion to tell."

" We shall all be eager listners," I re-
joined.

"Think you'd like to hear it, heyl"

" O, most certainly."

The old man smiled complacently, and
stroked his beard of a day's growth, in a
way to denote that he felt himself some-
what complimented.

« Got any bkccal"

I gave him a large quid.

" Well, plant yourselveB ^wn here in
talking distance, and while tikia deer meat's
sizaling, I'll tell you a tmnp, and an ace
at that."

Huntly and myself nt Alice seated our-
selves upon the ground, as near the old
man aif posalbije, who, giving the weed a
fe«r extra turns in his mouth, and noting
that all were waiting the story, began the
tale which I give in the following chapter.

1^

* A western word, equivalent to " very much.
t Died—another expression peculiar to the trap-
per.

CHAPTER VI.

THE OLD trapper's TALE — ATTACK ON HIM
BY THE INDIANS — ^HIS ESCAPE — THE DEAD
PURSUER — SUFFERINGS — THE MYSTERI-
OUS PRAIRIE FLOWER, ETC.

" Ye see, strangers," said the old man,
" or fiossoners, (though I spect it don't
make no pertikelar dif rence what I calls
ye, so^ it don'l hurt yonr leelins none,) as
I sez afore, I was raised down to Arkan-
saw, or thereabouts, and it's nigh on to
siity year now sence I fust tuk a center-
shot at daylight, and in course I've forgot
all the feelins a fust sight gin me. How-
somever, that's no thin here nor tother. —
(I say, Will, ef you've got that thar bot-
tle about you, I doesn't mind a taste, jest
to grease this here bacca^augh ! Than>
kee. Will; you're some, you is.)

" Well, strangers, you needn't ^spect
I'm agoin to gin ye my whole hist'ry , case
I isn't, and don't know's I could ef I want-
ed to, case most pn't's forgot. So now I'll
jest jump over a cord o' time, and come
down to 'bout four year ago come next
Peberry, when it was so all-fired cold, it
froze icykels on to the star rays, and stop-
ed 'em comin down; and the sun froze so
he couldn't shine; and the moon didn^t git
up at all, she didn't; and this here arth
was as dark nor a stack o' chowdered nig-
gers."

Here the Irishman, unable to stand it
longer, roared out:

** Howly saints! ye're not spaking truth,
now, Misther Black George?"

"Aint I, though?" answered the old
trapper, gravely, slyly tipping the wink to

32

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

one of his companions. */* D'ye think I'd
lie 'bout iti You remembers the time,
WilH"

" Well I does, hoss," replied Will, with
a grin.

" In course ye does, and so does every
body that knowed any thing 'bout it. I
may hev exaggerted a iQetle 'bout the stars
and them things, but I j^st tell ye what
was fact and n.o mistake, amd I'll be dog-
gone ef I doesn't stake my v'racity on its
being true's preachin!"

Here the old man made a pause.

" Well, well, go on!" cried I.

"Ay, ay!" echoed Huntly.

"Well," said Black George, "a leetle
drap more o' that critter — jest a taste —
case the truth makes me so infernal dry,
you can't tell. Augh! thankee — (return-
ing the b'ottle) — feel myself agin now.
But let's see, whar was D"

"You were speaking about the wea-
ther."

" So I was; that's a fact; I'll be dog-
gone ef I wasn't! Well, as I's a sayin,it
got so cold that when you throwed water
up in the air, it all froze afore it could git
down, and acterly had to stay thar, case it
froze right on t© the atmospheric."

" On to what?"

" The atmospheric."

" What is thati"

" You doesn't know what atmospheric
. is] Well, I'll be dog-gone ef I'm goin to
'lighten nobody; much's I ken do to un-
derstand for myself. But I knows the wa-
ter froze to that article, for that's what I
hearn a schollard call it, and I reckon he
knowed a heap any how."

" Well, well, the story," cried I.

" Yes, well, I haint got through tellin
how cold it was yit. Not only the water
froze to the atmospheric, but the animals
as used to run o' nights all quit the busi-
ness, and you could walk right up to one
and pat him han'some; case why — ^his
pye-sight was all froze right up tight to
his head. Fact! I'll be dog-gone ef it
wasn't!

« Well, I'd bin out a trappin, and had
made a purty good lick at it, and was com-
in down to Bent's Fort, to make a lounge
for the winter — leastwise for what was

left on't — when jest as I crossed Cherry
Creek, arter having left the Sothe Platte,
I wish I may be smashed, ef I didn't »ee
'bout a dozen cussed Rapahos (Arrapahoes)
coming toward me on hosses, as ef old
Nick himself was arter 'em. I looked around
me, and darned o' a thing could I see but
snow and ice — and the snow was froze so
hard that the hosses' and muleys' feet
didn't make no impression on^tjlt was
all alone, hoss-back, with three good mu-
leys,all packed han'Some; for Jim Davis —
him as travelled with'me — and AndyFors-
ker, another chap that made our party —
had gone round another way, jest for fear ^
o' them same painted heathen as was now
comin up. But ye see I'd bin bolder nor
them, and now I was a-goin to pay for't,
sartin; for I seed by thar looks, they was
bound to * raise my hair*'* ef I didn't do
soraethin for my country quicker. I look-
ed all around me, and thought I was a gone
beaver fast enough. I had a purty good
hoss under me, and I knowed he only could
save me, and a mighty slim chance he'd
have on't at that. Howsomever, I reckon-
ed it wasn't best to say die ef I could live,
and I didn't like the notion o' bein * rub-
bed out'f by sich a dog-gone, scrimptious
lookin set o' half humans as them thar
Rapahos. I cast around me, and seed
that old Sweetlove, (rifle) and her pups,
(pistols) and my butchers, (knife and tom-
ahawk) was all about; and so I jest swore
I'd set my traps and make one on 'em

* come,' ef I * went a wolfin' for it. J

" I saicj thar was 'bout a dozen— maybe
more — and they was ticklin thar bosses'
ribs mighty han'some, you'd better believe,
and a comin for me with a perfect loose-
ness, every one on 'em carryin a bow, and
every bow bent with an arrer in it. I
knowed my muleys was gone, sartin, and
all my traps and furs; 1?ut jest then I felt
so all-fired mad, that I thought ef I could
throw a couple, I wouldn't care a kick. So
instead o' trying to run away, I hollered

* Whoa' to the animals, and waited for the
redskins to come up. — (Jest a drap more
o' that. Rash, e/'you please; for this h^e

* Take my scalp.
tKiUed.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

33

^.

ho88 is as dry to-night as a dog-woried
skunk.)

" Well, on they comes, thunderin away
like a newly invented arthquake, and I
'spected for sartin I was a gone beaver.
Jest afore they got up so as they could let
thar shafts riddle me, the infernal cowards
seein as how I didn't budge, had the ou-
daciousness to come to a halt, and stare at
me as ef I was a kangaroo. I raised
Sweetlove, and told her to tell 'em Fs
about, and * some in a bar fight.' She an-
swered right han'some, did Sweetlove, and
down the for'ard one drapped right purty,
he did. Well, this sot the rest on 'em in
a rage, and afore I knowed it, they was all
jound me, yellin like the old Scratch.—
Half a dozen shafts come hissin through
my buckskins, and two on 'em stuck right
in my meat-bag, and made me feel all over
in spots like a Guinea nigger. Instanter
I pulled out Sweetlove's pups, and set 'em
to barkin, and two more o' the humans
drapped down to see how the snow felt.
Knowin it wasn't no use to be foolin my
time, I jerked the ropes, and told Skinflint
to travel afore my hair was raised, leavin
the muleys to do what they liked.

"Seein me a-goin, the oudacious Rapa-
hos thought they'd stop me; but I rid right
through 'enf purty, and got another arrer
in my back fur it.

" Artei* I'd got away, I looked round and
seed two on 'em a-comin like all possess-
ed, with thar lariats doubled for a throw. I
knowed ef they got near enough, I'd be sna-
ked off like a dead nigger, and my hair raised
afore I could say Jack Robinsoni. Maybe I
didn't ax Skinflint to do his purtiest, and
maybe he didn't, hey f Why he left a trail
o' fire behind him, as he went over that
frozen snow, that looked for all nater like
a streak o' big lightnin. B^it it didn't
seem to be o' no use; for the infernal
scamps come thunderin on, jest about so
fur behind, and I seed thar bosses was all
o' the right stuff. The sun was about a
two hour up, and thar he stayed, he did;
for it was so almighty cold, as I said afore,
he couldn't git down to hide.

" Well, on we run, and run, and run,
till the bosses smoked and puffed like a
Massassip steamer, and still we run. I

made'tracks as nigh as I could calculate
for the mountains, in the direction o'
Pike's Peak, and on we went, as ef old
Brimistone was arter us. I calculated my
chasers 'ud git tired and gin in; but they
was the real grit, and didn't seem to mind
it. At last they begun to gain on me, and
I knowed from the * signs' o' Skinflint,
that 'he'd hev to go under, sure's guns, ef
I didn't come to a rest purty soon. You'd
better believe I felt queer jest then, and
thought over all my sins, with the arrers
stickin in my belly and back like all git
out. I tried to pray; but I'd never larnt
no prayers when a pup, and now I was too
old a dog to ketch new tricks; besides, it
was so all-fired cold, that my thoughts
stuck in my head like they was pinned
thar with icykels. I'd bin chased afore
by the Commanches and Blackfoot, by the
Pawnees and Kickapoos, by the Crows and
Chickasaws, but I'd never had sich feelins
as now. The short on't is, boys, I was
gittin the squaw into me, and I knowed it;
but I'll be dog-gone ef I could help it, to
save my hair, that stood up so stiff and
straight as to raise my hat and let the at-
mospheric in about a feet. I was gittin
outrageous cold, too, and could feel my
heart pumpin up icykels by the sack full,
and I knowed death was about sartin as
daylight.

" * Well,' sez I to myself, * old boss,
you've got to go under and lose your top-
knot, so that's the use a kickin?'

" * Howsomever,' I answered, * sposi^ I

r

has, I reckon's best to die game, aint it!' —
and with this I pulled old Sweetlove round
and commenced fodderin her as best I
could. She knowed what was wanted, did
Sweetlove, and looked right sassy, I'll be
dog-gone ef she didn't.

" ' You're a few, aint youl' sez I, as I
rammed home an all-fired charge of pow-
der, that made her grunt like forty.

" Well, I turned round, fetched her up
to my face, and * drawin a bead'* on to the
nearest, pulled the trigger.

" Now you needn't believe it without
ye take a notion, but I'll be rumfuzzled
(stir that fire, Ned, or this here meat won't

* Taking close light,

34

THE PRAIEIE FLOWER;

,git Utsted tiU midnight), ef she didn't
hold shoot about a minnet, and I all the
time squintin away too, afore the fire could
melt t^e ice round the powder and let her
•off. That's a fact! — PU be dog-gone ef
it wasn't!

** W«ll, she went off at last, she did,
with a whoosss-k cheeesss-cup cho-bang,
and I hope I may be dogged for a possum,
^f one o' my chasers didn't hev to pile
himself on a level with his moccasin right
han'some. Now I thought as how this 'ud
start the wind out o' t'other, and put him
on the 4>ack'ard track. ButitdidnH. He
<lidn't seem to mind it no more'n's ef it
was the commonest thing out.

" * Well,' thinks I to myself, * maybe
you'll ketch a few ef you keep foolin your
time that-a-ways;' and so I set to work
^nd foddered Sweetlove agin.

" By this time poor Skinflint, I seed,
was gittin top-heavy right smart, and I
knowed ef I done any thing, it 'ud hev to
be did afore the beginnin o' next month,
or 'twouldn't be o' no use, not a darned
bit. Well, I tuk squint agin, plum-center,
and blazed away; but hang me up for bar's
meat, ef it made the least dif'renco with
the skunk of a Rapaho. I was perfect
dumfouzled; complete used up; for I'd
never missed a target o' that size afore,
sence I was big enough to shoot pop-guns
to flies. I felt sort o' chawed up. Never
felt so all of a heap afore but once't, and
^that was when I axed Suke Harris to hev
>sne, and she said ' No.'

'"Now you'd better calculate I hadn't
no great deal o' time to think, for thar he
was-^the cussed Injin — jest as plain as
the nose on your face, and a- com in full
•flpHt right at me, with his rope quirled in
his hand, jest ready for a throw. Quicker
as winkin, I foddered Sweetlove agin, and
gin him another plum-center, which in
oourse I spected would knock the hind-
sights off on him. Did it? Now you ken
take my possibles, traps and muleys, ef it
<lid. Did it] No! reckons it didn't. Thar
lie sot, straight up and down, a thunderin
on jest as ef the arth was made for his
«peciai purpose. I begun to git skeered
in arnest, and thought maybe it was the
<ievil deformed into a Injin; and I'd a no-

tion to put in a silver bullet, only I didn't
happen to have none 'bout me.

" On he come, the scamp, and on I bolt-
ed—or tried to rayther — for Skinflint had
got used up, and down he pitched, sending
me right plum over his noddle on to my
back, whar I lay sprawlin like a bottle o'
spilt whisky.

" ' It's all up now, and I'm a gone possum,'
sez I, as I seed the Injin come tearin ahead;
and I drawed the old butcher, and tried to
feed one o' the pups, but my fingers was
so numb I couldn't. .

" Well up rides old Rapaho, lookin as
savage nor a meat-axe, his black eyes
shinin like two coals o' fire. Well now
what d'ye think he did? Did he shoot me?
No! Did he rope (lasso) me? No! Did
he jtry to? No, I'll be dog-gone ef he didl^

" What did he do?" inquired I, quickly.

" Ay, ay, what did he do?" echoed
Huntly.

" Howly Mary! if ye knows what he
did, Misther George, spaak it, jist, an re-
lave yer mind- now," put in the Irishman.

The old trapper smiled.

" Rash," he said, " ef that thai bottle
isn't empty, I'll jest take another pull."

"Taint all gone yit," answered Rash
Will; "'spect 'twill be soon; but go it,

old boss, and gin us the rest o' that

Rapahos affair."

The old man drank, smacked his lips,
smiled, and remarked:

" How comfortable deer meat smells."

" But the Rapaho," cried I, « what did
he do?"

" Do!" answered Black George, with a
singular expression that I could not de-
fine: " Do! why he rid up to my boas and
stopped, Ae did; and didn't do nothin else,
ke didn't."

« How sol"

" Case he was done for,"

" Dead?"

" As dog meat — augh!"

" Ah! you had killed him, theni" cried I.

" No r hadn't, though."

" What then?"

" He'd died himself, he had.

" How, died?"

"Froze, young BoBsons, froze as stiff
nor a white oak."

l^'

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

35

"Froze!*' echoed tvro or three yoices,
miHB among the rest.

" Yes, blaze my old carcass and send me

awolfifi, ef he hadn't t and I, like a

fool) had bin runnin away from a dead nig-
ger. Maybe I didn't swear some, and say
a tew that aint spolie in the pulpit. You'd
jest better believe, strangers, I felt soft as
a chowdered possum."

^< But how had he followed )-ou if he
was dead!"

"He hadn't, not pertikerlarly; but his
boss had; for in course he didn't know his
rider was rubbed out, and so he kept on
arter mine, till the divin o' old Skinflint
fetched him up a-standin."

" Of course you were rejoiced at your
escapel"

"Why, sort o' so, and sort o' not; for I
felt so all-fired mean, to think Pd bin run-
nin from and shootin to a dead Injin, that
for a long spell I couldn't git wind enough
to say nothin.

" At last I sez, sez I, * This here's purty
business now, aint it? I reckons, old bea-
ver, you've had little to dp, to be foolin
your time and burnin your powder this
way;' and then I outs with old butcher,
and swore I'd raise bis hair.

" Well, I coaxed my way up to his old
boss, and got hold on himself; but it wasn't
a darned bit o' use; he was froze tight to
the saddle. I tried to cut into him, but I'll
be dog-gone ef my knife ud enter more'n
'twould into a stone. Jest then I tuk a
look round, and may I be rumboozled, ef
the sun hadn't got thawed a leetle, and,
arter strainin so hard, had gone down with
a jump right behind a big ridge.

" Well,' sez I, * this nigger'd better be
making tracks somewhar, or he'll spile,
sure.'

" So wishin old Rapaho a pleasant time
on't, I tried Skinflint, but findin it wasn't
no go, I gathered up sich things from my
possibles as I couldn't do without, pulled
the arrers out o' me, and off I sot for a
ridge 'bout five mile away.

" When h got thar, it was so dark you
couldn't tell a tree from a nigger, and the
wind — phe-ew! — ^it blowed so one time
that I bad to hitch on to a rock to keep
myself any whar, I tried to strike a fire,

but my fingers was so cold I couldft't, and
the snow had kivered up every thing, so that
thar wasn't nothin to make it on.

"*It's a screecher,' I sez, to myself^
* and afore daylight PU be rubbpd out, sar-
tin.'

" At last I begun to feel so queer, and
so sleepy I couldn't hardly keep open my
peepers. I knowed ef I laid down and
slept, I was a gone beaver; and so stum-
blin about, I got hold o' a tree, and begun
to climb, and when I got up high enough,
I slid down agin, and you'd better believe
this here operation felt good — ef it didn't
I wouldn't tell ye so.

" The whole blessed night I worked in
this way, and it blowin, and snowin, and
freezin all the time like sixty. At last
mornin come, but it was a dfrned long
while about it, and arter I'd gin in that
daylight wasn't no whar,

" Well, Boon's I could see, off" I sot, and
travelled, and travelled, I didn't know
which way nor whar, till night had come ^
agin, and I hadn't seen nothin human —
and besides, I'd eat up all my fodder. I
tried to shoot somethin, but I'll be dogged
ef thar was any varmints to shoot o' no
kind — they was all froze up 'tighter nor
darnation.

« That night went like tother,in rubbin
a tree, and the next day I sot on agin, and
travelled till night, without eatin a bit o'
food. I had a leetle bacca, and that I
chawed like all git out, until I'd chawed
it all up, and begun to think I was chawed
up myself. I'd got, though, whar I could
find a few sticks, and 1 made a fire, and
it'd a jest done ye good to seen the way I
sot to it.

" The next mornin I put on agin, but I'd
got so powerful weak, that I rolled round
like I'd bin spilin a quart. Night come
agin, and I'd got worse tangled up nor ever,
and didn't know the pint o' compass from
a bujOder's tail.

" * Well, it's all up with this here coon,'
I sez; * and so what's the use o' trying
Might as well die now as when I've got
more sins to count;' and so givin old
Sweetlove a smack, and tellin her to be a
good gal, I keeled over as nateral as shoot-
in. I looked up'ard, and seed a. bright

36

THE PRAIRTE FLOWER;

star that 'ud jest thawed its way down^
and thiDkiri^ maybe I'd be thar sood, I gin
in and shut my peepers, as I spected for
the last time.

" How long I laid thar I never knowed,
and never spect to; but when I seed day-
light agin, I found this here boss in a In-
jin lodge, somewhar about, and tickle me
with a pitch-pine knot ef I ever knowed
exactly whar; for I forgot to * blaze'* the
place, and couldn't never find it agin. At
fust in course I thought I was in the other
country folks tells about; and thinks I,
I've bin stuck among the Injins, jest to
punish me for raisin so much hair while
on the arth. I begun to git skeered, I tell
ye; but it wasn't long afore I seed a sight
that made it seem like Heaven any how —
leastwise^ felt parfectly willin to be pun-
ished that way etarnally, I did. — (I say,
Bosson, got any more bacca] This here
travels like a May frost.")

" Well, what did you seel" I inquired,
as I hastily supplied him with the desired
article.

"See! sposin you guess now. You're
what they calls Yankee, and ort to guess
any thing."

" O, I could not guess it, I am satis-
fied."

" I can now," said the Irishman.

« Well, Teddy, out with it."

" Why, he saan a bothel o' whisky, in
course; what else should he sae to make
him happy all of asuddeni"

A roar of laughter followed this witty
reply, in which Black George good hu-
moredly joined.

" Well, you is some at guessin, you is,"
replied the old trapper; " but you didn't
quite hit it, boss. I say, strangers, what's
the purtiest sight you ever seed on the
arthV;

" A beautiful female," I replied.

"Well that's jest what I seen. I seed
afore me a critter in the shape o' a gal,
that was the most purty I ever drawed
bead on."

" A beautiful girll" I exclaimed.

* To " blaze" a tree is to mark it with an aze,
or in some way, bo that it can be identified. A
" blazed path" is one so marked throughout.

" Well, stranger, she wasn't nothin else*
she wasn't — I'll be dog-gone ef she was!"

"Describe her!"

" Jest describe a angel, and you've got
her to a T — ef you havn't, why was bea-
vers growedl that's all."

« Who was shel"

" Well now, boss, you're gittin into the
picters, and headin oflT this old coon right
center. I Aever knowed who she was, un-
less she was a sperit — for I'll be dog-gone
ef ever I seed any thing half as decent
'bout a Injin."

" Can you not describe her?'

" Describe thunder! Why she was the
tallest specimen of a human as ever sp'ilt
par-flesh of bufiler, she was. She had
long hair, black as a nigger in a thunder-
cloud; and eyes black too, and so large
and bright you could see to shave in 'em
as easy as trappin. And then sich a face!
— well that was a face, now, or I wouldn't
tell ye so. It kept puttin me in mind o'
summer weather and persimmons, it was so
almighty warm and sweet lookin. O, sich
a nose — sich lips — sich teeth — and, hea-
vens and arth! sich a smile! — (A drap
more. Will, for this child's mouth's gittin
watery a thinkin, and that meat looks like
feedin time.")

" Why, now, you have raised my curi-
osity to the highest point," I said, " and
so I must have the rest of the story forth-
with."

"Boys often git thar curiosity raised
out here-aways, and thar hair too some-
times," replied the old hunter, coolly, tak-
ing his meat off the stick and commen-
cing to eat.

" But you are going to finish your story,
Georgre'?" queried Huntly, quickly.

" Why, I spect I'll hev to; but I'll make
it short; for I never likes to talk much
'bout that gal; I al'ays feel so much all
overish, I can't tell ye how."

" Perhaps you got in love with her," re-
turned Huntly, jocosely.

The old trapper suddenly paused, with
the meat half way to his moihh, and turn-
ed upon my friend with a frown and gleam-
ing eyes.

" Look heyar, boy,'* he said, " you didn't
mean to insult this child, I reckon 1"

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

37

>

" Far from it," answered Huntly, quick-
ly. " I only spoke in jest, and crave par-
don if I offended."

" 'Twon't do to jest about every thing,
young chap, case thar is spots as won't
bear rubbin. Howsomever, I sees you
didnH mean nothin, and so I'll not pack it.
Talkin of love! Now I doesn't know
much 'bout the article, though I've seed
nigh sixty year, and never was spliced to
no gal; but I'll tell you what 'tis, Bosson,
ef I'd bin thirty year younger, ef I hadn't
made tracks wkh that'ar gal, and hitched,
then call me a nigger and let me spile."
" How old was she]" I asked.
" Jest old enoug hto be purty, she was."
" But how had she found you so oppor-
tunely?"

" That's whar I'm fooled; for though I
axed her, and she told me, I'll be dog-gone
ef I wasn't thinkin how purty she looked
when she talked, and let the whole on't
slip me like tryin to throw a buffler with a
greased rope. All I could ever ketch on't
was, that she or some other Injin, or some-
body else, come across me and tuk me in,
did up my scratches, and fetched me sen-
sible. She said she was purty much of a
beaver among the Injins, and could do
'bout as she tuk a notion; but that ef I
wanted my hair, I'd better be leavin right
smartly, or maybe I'd be made meat of —
augh!

" Well, arter it come dark, she packed
some fodder for me, and acterly went her-
self along and seed me through the camp—
for it wasn't a reg'lar village of Injins no
how.

" * What tribe's thisl' I axed, arter I'd
got ready to quit.

" * That you musn't know,' she sez. * Ax
no questions, but set your face that-a-
ways, and keep your nose afore ye till
daylight, and don't come heyar agin, or
you're dead nigger.'
" * But ef you won't tell this child the
* Injins, tell me who you is I'

"*rm called Leni-Leoti, or Perrarie-
Flower,' sez she; and then afore I could
•ay, * O, you is, hey!' she turned and put
back like darnation.

*< I'd a great notion to foUer her, and I
Cttsaed myself arterwards cpe I didn't; but

I spect I was feelin green then, and so I
did jest as she told me — ef I didn't, I wish
I may be dogged! When it come mornin ,
I looked all round, and concluded I was on
tother side of the ' Divide.' So I tuk a
new track, and arter many days' travel,
fetched up in Brown's Hole, whar I found
lots of trappers, and spent the winter —
augh! Now don't ax no more, for you've
got all this boss' agoin to tell; for the
whisky's out, the bacca's low, this coon's
hungered, and the meat's a spilin."

Here, sure enough, the old trapper came
to a pause; and although I felt a deep in-
terest to know more about the singular
being he had described, Prairie-Flower, I
saw it would be useless to question him
further. The conversation now turned
upon trivial affairs, in which neitl^er Hunt-
ly nor myself took much interest. We
felt wearied and hungry; and so after re-
ga,ling ourselves on toasted deer meat,
without bread, and only a little salt, and
having seen our animals driven in and pick-
eted — that is, fastened to a stake in the
ground, by a long lariat or rope of skin,
so that they could feed in a circle — we
threw ourselves upon the earth around the
fire, and, with no covering but our gar-
ments and the broad canopy of heaven,
brilliantly studded with thousands on thou-
sands of stars, slept as sweetly and sound-
ly as ever we did in a thickly peopled set-
tlement.

CHAPTER VII.

MOENING SCEWE — COKVEESATION — BOTH III
LOVE — LUDICROUS MISTAKE— OLD FEEL-
INGS TOUCHED — INTERRUPTION.

At the first tinge of day -break on the
following morning, I sprung to my feet,
and rousing Huntly, we stole quietly from
the circle of sleeping trappers, and took
our way to the eminence from which I had
viewed the farewell of day the evening
previous. It was a splendid morning, and
the air, clear, soft and balmy, was not stri-
red by a single zephyr. As we ascended
the knoll and looked toward the east, we
could barely perceive a faint blush indica-

I

38

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

ting- the rosy dawn of day, while a soft,
gray light spread sweetly over the scene,
and the stars, growing less and less bright,
gradaally began to disappear from our
view. Presently the blush of morn took
A deeper hue, and gently expanding on
either hand, blended beautifully with the
deepening blue. Then golden flashes shot
upward, growing brighter and brighter, till'
it seemed as if the world were on fire;
while night, slowly receding, gradually re-
vealed the lovely prairie to our enchanted
gaze. Brighter, more golden, more beau-
tiful grew the east, and brighter the light
around us, until the stars had all become
hidden, and objects far and near could be
distinctly traced, standing out in soft re-
lief from the green earth and the blue and
golden sky.

" Magnificent!" I exclaimed, turning to--
ward my friend, who was standing wi^
his face to the east, his gaze fixed qh
high, apparently lost in contemplation.

He did not reply, and repeating my ex-
clamation, I lightly touched him on the
arm. He started suddenly, and turned to
me with an expression so absent, so vacant,
that I felt a slight alarm, and instantly,
added:

" Huntly, are you illl"

"111, Prank? No! no! not ill by any
means," he replied. "Why do yoii aski"*

" You appeared so strangely."

" Indeed! Well, where think you were
my thoughts."

" How should I know]"

" True enough, and I will tell yen. I
was thinking of that fair being we rescued
from the flunes."

" Alii \v!iy of her now!"

" Njt only now, Frank, but she fills my
thoughts nu,ro than you are aware. Often
do I :.eo Jicr in my dreams; and the mere
resem-'l-tnce of yonder sky to fire, vividly
recalbu to mind that never-to-be forgot-
ten niifiit V. hen first I beheld her."

**-Gh".rley, you are in love."

"k rnay be," he answered with a sigh;
"but, alas! if so, I love one whom I shall
never behold again;" and he dropped h^s
head upon his bosom in a musing mood.

" Nay, nay, old friend," I said gaily; "it
will not do for you to be getting sentimen-

tally love-sicki away out here upon the
prairies. Who knows but some day she
you are thinking of, may, in spite of your
now doleful looks, become your wife!"

** Prank," said Huntly, in quick reply,
with a look of reproach, "if you knew my
feelings, you would not wound them, I am
sure, by untimely jests."

"'Good heavens! Charley," I exclaimed,
in surprise, at once grasping his hand with
a hearty pressure; "I wound your feelings?
Why such a thought never entered my
head. I spoke jestingly, it is true; but I
was not aware that the afifair had become
80 serious. I was thinking at the time
that one ailing youth in our camp was suf-
ficient."

" To whom do you alludel"

« Myself."

^How sol I was not aware that you
were ailing, as yon call it."

^ Why, do you not know that I am in
love, like yourselH"

^'Heavens! not with her, Frank — ^not
with herl" cried my friend, grasping my
arm nervously, and peering into my face
with a searching glance.

** Ay, Charles, and I thought you knew
it. I acted wrongly, T know, and have
deeply repented since."
• "But then, you — ^you-r-love her still,
Prankr*

" Devotedly, as God is my judge!"

Huntly released my arip with a groan,
and turned away his head.

" What is the meaning of this, Chariest"
1 inquired^ in a tone of alarm.

" Why did you not tell it me before?"
he said, with a long, deep sigh.

" Pirst, because it is a delicate subject,
and I did not like to mention it. Second-
ly, because you havQ never before alluded
to it yourself."

"True; but I did not dream it was so.
O God! why, then, did you not let me
perish in the flames V

" Perish, Charlesl — how stranofely you
talk! Why should I have let you perish?

" To end my misery."

"Misery? You alarm me, Charles! you
are not well — you have bad n<?ws — or
something has happened which you have
kept from me?"

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

3»

" You love her, you say — is not that
enough? But go on! I will yield all to you.
I will not stand in your way. No! sooner
would I die than mar your happiness. But
I regret I did not know of it before."

" Charles," I exclaimed, in real alarm,
what mean you by these strange words]
You stand in my wayl I do not understand
you; you have some hidden meaning!"

** Have you, then, not divined that I love
her)"

"Ay."

" And can two love the same, and both
be bappyl"

" Why not? I would not rob you of your
love. True, I love her deeply, devol edly,
I swear to you; and I know you love her
also; but then our love is diiferent. You
love her as a brother — but I, as something
more than brother."

** I see you are mistaken, Prank; and to
show you how much I sacrifice to your
happiness, I will say, once for all, I love
her as deeply, as devotedly, as passionate-
ly as . yourself; but not as a brother, my
friend; O no, not as a brother."

" Indeed, Charles!^' I cried, with a ter-
rible suspicion of something I dared not
express: "Indeed, Charles!" and I grasp-
ed hie arm, and sought his eye with mine:
*? Indeed, Huntly ! No, no ! gracious
heavens! you cannot mean what you have
said! Take it back, I beg of you, and
avow you love her as a brother, and noth-
ing more — for more would be crimin-
al^

"T do. not see the criminality you speak
of," he answered coldly. "Is it not
enough that I have offered to sacrifice my
ewn happiness, without being charged with
-crime?"

"But Charles, ray friend, ronpider! — you
have no right to an attachment warmer
than a brother's."

^* Ri(//itr^ echoed Hiintly, turning pale
with excitemnnt: *^Ri;^ht, say you! By
beavens! when it comes to that, I know
not why my rif/ht to love her is not as good
as yours."

" Shall I tell you?"

" Ay, do! Quote me the law that makes
it criminal forme to love and not yourself,"
answered Charles, bitterly.

" The law of consanguinity.*'

" Heavens! what do you mean?"

" Does not the same blood flow in the*
veins of both of you?"

" Good God! you chill my blood with
horror! you do not mean this?" and my^
friend turned deadly pale, reeled like one
intoxicated, and grasped my arm for sup*
port. "I was not aware of this, Frank.'*

I now became more alarmed than ever.
Something had assuredly turned the brain
of my friend, and he was now, (how I
shuddered as I thought) — ^he was now a
maniac!

" Why, Charley," I said, in a tone as
soothing as I could command," surely you
know her to be your sister!"

" Sister r^ he fairly shrieked.

"Ay, sister, Charley. Is not Lilian
your sister?"

" Lilian!" he cried, with a start, and a
rapid change of conntenance that terrifi-
ed me. "Lilian ! — ^then ffou were speakini^
of my sister Lilian?"

" Assure Ay! who else?"

Huntly looked at me a moment steadily,
and then burst into an uncontrolable fit of
laughter, that made my blood run cold. ^

"Great Heaven!" I cried, his senses
are indeed lost!" and I was on the point of
hurrying to camp, to give the alarm
and get assistance, when, seizing me by
the arm with one hand, and giving me a
hearty slap on the shoulder with the
other, he exclaimed:

"Prank, if ever there were two fools,
then you and I make four."

"Poor fellow!" I sighed, and my eyes
filled with tears: "What a shock it will
be to his family!"

"Why, Prank, he cried again, accom-
panying hid words with another slap, "you
are dreaming, man! — ^your senses are wool-
oratherinof."

" Exactly," I said; "he of course thinks
me insane, poor fellow!"

" Nonsense, Prank. It is all a mistake,
ray dear fellow, and a laughable one truly,
as you must know. You were speaking
of sister Lilian; while i, all the time, was
alluding to the fair unknown."

"What!" cried I, comprehending all at
a glance; "then it is no insanity with you

40

THE PRAIRIE PLOVSTER;

— and we have both made fooli of our-
selves indeed?'

*< Exactly^ so give me your hand on it,
my old chum!"

Instantly my hand was locked in that of
ray friend, and then such another shout of
merriment as we both set up, at the ridic-
ulousness of the whole affair, I venture to
say was never heard in that part of the
country before nor since.

" So, then," resumed I, "the secret is
out, and we have both acknowledged to
being deeply in love. Really, dear Char-
ley, I feel under great obligations to you
for that meditated sacrifice — more especi-
ally, as the lady in question is thousands
of miles away, is entirely unknown to us,
and will probably never be seen again by
either Charles Huntly or Francis Leigh-
ton."

" Tut, tut, tut, Frank'. *No more of
that, an' thou lovest me,' " returned my
friend, good humoredly. "I admit that I
have acted the simpleton; but, at the same
time (and he gave me a cdmic|^ look), I
feel proud to say I have had most excel-
lent company — Eh! my dear fellow V

" 1 acknowledge the corn."

" But touching my sister, Frank."

" Well, what of herl" I cried quickly,
while I felt the blood rush to my face in a
warm current.

" Did you not act hastily — too hastily —
in that matter, my friend?"

" I fear I did, and I have bitterly repen-
ted me since. But I loved her so, Char-
ley; and you know my passionate nature
could not brook a rival."

" A rival, Frank! I never knew you had
a rival."

" What! not know the elegant Mr.
Wharton]"

" Pah! you did not take him for a rival,
I hope."

" Indeed I did. Does he not visit your
house frequently]"

"Yes, and so do fifty others; but I as-
sure you dear Lilian will not marry them
all."

"But — ^but — I thought Wharton — a — a

t>

" A fashionable gallant. So he is."
** No— a — a — special suitor to your sis-

ter's hand," I stammered, concluding the
sentence my friend had interrupted.

"Pshaw! Frank. Why Lilian would
not look at him — other than to treat him
respectfully, as she would any visiter—
much less marry him."

" Then you think she does not love him]"

"Love him!" echoed Huntly, with a
smile of contempt, and an expressive shrug
of his shoulders. "No! Lilian Huntly
loves but one."

" And who is he]"

" One certain hot-headed youth, ycleped
Frank Leighton."

" Are you sure of this, Charles]" and I
caught the hand of my friend, and fastened
my eye steadily upon his.

" I will stake my life on it; and had you
been possessed of your usual good sense
that night you must have seen it."

I released the hand I had clasped in
mine, and staggered back as if struck a
violent blow. My brain grew dizzy, my
hands trembled, and it was with difficulty
I could keep myself upon my feet. In-
stantly the arm of my friend encircled my
waist, and he said, hurriedly:

"Good heavens! what have I done!
Frank, Frank, take this noc so hard — it
will all be right in the end. Lilian and
you were made for each other, I see; and
this seperation will only serve to knit more
closely the tie of affection between you
when again you meet."

I replied not; I could not; but I struck
my head with my fist, and gave vent to a
groan that seemed to issue from my very
soul.

" Is it there ye is, your honors]" said
the voice of Teddy, at this moment. —
"Faith, now, I've bin lookin for yees wid
my two eyes and ears this long while, to
ax ye, would ye have your breakfast cook-
ed, or be afther takin it raw]"

"Cooked, you fool!" cried Huntly,
angrily.

" Thin all I have to say is, it's waitin,
your honors, and done beauthifully, by the
chief cook and buthler, Teddy O'Lagher-
ty, barring that he's no cook at all, at all,
worth mintion, and divil a bit o' a buthler
is in him now. And what's more, I'm to
till ye that the Misther Trapphers is jist

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

41

gluing ready to lave the whereabouts, and
they sez be ye going wid thend, they'll be
axing yees to travel."

" Sure enoufifh," said Huntly, looking
down toward the camp, "they are prepar-
ing to leave in earnest. So come, Frank;"
and taking my arm in his, we descended
the hill together in silence.

CHAPTER Vni.

OUR CAMP RAISED AND JOURNEY RESUMED—
A HALT — cotton's CREEK — ORIGIN OF
THE NAME — ^ALARM — PREPARAIION FOR
DEFENCE — CAMP, ETC.

By the time that we had joined the trap-
pers, the sun was already risen, and stream-
ing his golden light over the broad prairie
with a beautiful effect. Hastily partaking
of our breakfast, watering our animals
at a small creek which ran bubbling round
the base of the little knoll so often men-
tioned, we prepared to raise our camp, as
packing up to leave is termed by the
mountaineers. Placing our saddles, pos-
sibles, ect., on our horses and mules, we
mounted and took a northern course over
the prairie.

As we passed along, we saw a few deer
away in the distance, and occasionally
caught sight of a buffalo, while animals of
various kinds and sizes appeared here and
there, sporting in the glorious sunbeams
and seeking their daily fare, both single
and in numbers. However, as we had
plenty of "meat" laid in for the present,
we did not trouble them, but kept quietly
along upon our course — Black George
taking the lead as pilot, and the rest of us
following in his track, Indian file.

A little past noon we came to a small
creek which flows into the Blue Earth
river, or "Big Blue" as I heard it called by
the mountain men, and here we paused
again to water our aninpals, and allow them
a few minutes to crop the luxuriant grass
beneath their feet.

" Thar's time enough boys, I'm thinkin,"
said Black George; "so what's the use o'
hurryin! Spect we wouldn't live no lon-
ger for't; and jest to tell you fact) I'm in

no particular drive to quit this warm sun-
shine, for the clouds and snow and ice o'
the mountains — Eh! Ned? — augh!

" l)on't know's the mountains '11 be any
better for ourwaitin," grumbled Ned; "and
as long's we've got to go, what's the use
o* our throwin away time hereV

**Augh!" grunted the ,old trapper. —
"You're al'ays in a haste, boy, and some
day you'll git rubbed out in a haste, or I'm
no beaver. Come, what say you, Tomi—
you haint opened your face sence you
bolted that meat — leastwise to my knowin.' '

" I don't care a chaw which — stay or go
— suit yourselves," answered Daring Tom,
sententiously.

" Well, boys," rejoined the old moun-
taineer, "we'll hold our wind here 'bout a
quarter, and then travel."

Saying which, he dismounted his mule,
drew his pipe from a little holder suspen-
ded round his neck, and squatting upon
the ground, deliberately filled and ignited
it, by means of, punk, flint and steel, and
commenced puffing away, as indifferent to
every thing or person around him, as if he
had been paid expressly to pass his life in
this manner. Fiery Ned, however, was
not pleased; and ripping out a few oaths,
on what he termed the "d — d laziness of the
other," he jerked up his mules and set for-
ward, followed by Rash Will only — Daring
Tom and ourselves remaining with Black
George. The last mentioned puffed away
quietly, until the foremost party had dis-
appeared, when taking his pipe from his
mouth, blowing out a large volume of
smoke, and watching it as it curled round
and round on its ascent ere it disappeared,
he turned to me with a comical look, and
shrugging his shoulders and winking his
eye, observed:

" They'll not live no longer for it, boss
— ^I'll be dog-gone ef they will!" Saying
which, he drew his legs a little more under
him, and resumed his pipe with the gravity
of a Dutchman.

The spot where we w^re now halted, *
was one of rare beauty. It was a little
valley, nearly surrounded by hills in the
shape of a horse-shoe, along the base of
which, like a silver wife, wound the little
murmuring rivulet, its waters sparkling

42

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

in the sunahine, becoming glassy in the
shade, and mirroring the steeps above it as
it gaily took its way to unite with the lar-
ger waters of the Blue. Above us, on
three sides, rose the horse-shoe ridge, par-
tially bare with frowning rocks, and par-
tially covered with a dwarfish growth of
various kinds of wood. The valley or bot-
tom was a rich alluvion, carpeted with
fresh sweet grass — which pur animals crop-
ped eagerly — and with various kinds of
ivild flowers; while hundreds of gay-plum^
aged birds were hovering over our heads,
or skimming along the surface, and thus
checkering and enlivening the scene with
their presence, and filling the air and our
ears with the melody of their voices. The
point of the valley not belted with the hills,
looked out upon a prairie which stretched
away to the west and south, its half grown
grass waving in the breeze and resemb-
ling the lighter ripples of some beautiful
l^ke.

" What a lovely scene!" said Huntly,
tt^niing to me, as, dismounted, we both
stood gazing upon it.

'< A little Paradise that I have never
seen surpassed," was my answer.

"Yes, but every thing beautiful here-
abouts gits sp'ilt to them as knows it a
few," chimed in the old hunter, blowing
the smoke deliberately from his mouth.
''Now I've no doubt this here place looks
purty to you, but Pye seen blood run here-
away s — augh!"

" Indeed!" I exclaimed, advancing to the
old trapper, as did ejach of the others, with
the exception of Tom, who, having squat-
ted himself some little distance ofi* and lit
Ais pipe, seemed wholly absorbed with
thoughts of his own. "Then there has
been fighting here in days gone by?" 1
pursued.

« Well thar has, boss," was the res-
ponse. "Ye see that ar creek, don't ye I"
pointing to it with the stem of his pipe.

"Ay."
^ " Well, it look's purty enough to one as
don't know, but this coon's seen them wa-
ters red afore now."

" Tell us the tale," said Huntly.

" Why it's lt)ng, Bosson, and we haint
got time to throw away — to I'll he? to let

it slide, I'm thinkin. Howsomever, I'll
gin ye the gist on't, and I spose that'll do
as well. That creek you see yonder's
bin called Cotton's Creek ever sence that
time, and the reason on't is, case a power--
ful good chap called Jim Cotton, or
'Snake-Eye,' got rubbed out thar by t^e
cussed Pawnees. Me' and him, and Jake
Strader, and Sigh Davis, had bin down to
St. Louey, and sold our beavers to the
Nor- Westers*, (and them was the days
when they fetched somethin — five dollar a
plewjf old or young uns, instead o' a dol-
lar a pound — augh!) and coming out to In-
dependence with the 'rocks' in our pock-
ets, we got on a regular spree, and spent
a few — but not all — and a infernal Grea-
ser| somehow gittin wind on't, and find-
ing out jest which way we's agoin, put out
ahead, and got some .five or six Pawnees
to jine him, and come down here to ca-
che{ for us.

" Well in course we wasn't thinkin o*
nothin dangerous, case our bottles warn't
all emptied, and we felt happy enough. —
Jesi down here we stopped to water and
rest like we're doin now, when all at once
that' ar bush you see yonder near the bank
let out seven bullets right among us. Jim
Cotton was throwed cold, and never kick-
ed arter, poor feller! Jake Strader got his
arm broke. Sigh Davis a ball through his
shoulder, and me one ri^ht into my calf.
Then thinkin they throwed the majority,
the oudacious skunks come tearin and yell-
in like sin, old Greaser on the lead. A
part broke for us, and the rest for our ani-
mals, so as ef they didn't ' count a coup'
they could put us * afoot.'

" * Heyars hair, and a chance for dry
powder — gin 'em h — !' sez I; and I ups
with old Sweetlove, and throwed old Grea-
ser cold, right in his tracks — ^so cold be
never knowed what made meat of him»
Greaser didn't.

" Well, jest as mine went .1 heerd two
more pops, and blow me for a liar ef two
more of the rascals didn't drtp purty !

^Hudson Bay Ccmpany is someiimes 80 called
by the trappers.
+ Pluie— a whole skin.
X Spaniard or Mezioan.
$ Uide--from cacber.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

48

How they'd done it — specially Jake Stra-
der with his broken arm — got me all of a
heap; but done it they had, eartin as win-
kin; and thar the varmints lay, a-kickin
like darnation. Now thar was only four
left, and grabbin Jim Cotton's rifle, afore
they knowed what I was about, I laid an-
other han'some. Now we was even, and
I hollered to the skunks to come on and
show fair fight, and Pd eyther lick the
three or gin 'em my sea' p. But they hadn't
no notion o' try in on't, the cowards! but
turned and ' split' as ef the arth was agoin
to swaller *em.

" * Hiirraw for us beavers!' I sez; * and let
us go hair-raisin;' and with that T takes
my butcher and walks into the varmints;
and then I as wasn't dead I carved; and ar-
ter Pd done, me and Sigh — for Jalte couldn't
work well — we hove the meat into the wa-
ter, christening it Cotton's Creek; then
we dug a hole nigh 'bout whar you're
standin, put in poor Jim, kivered him over,
and jeBt as we was, all wounded, we mount-
ed our critters and put out."

" And do ye think there is, maybe, iny
of the likes of thim rid divils about here
now, sure, Misther Trapper George 1" in-
quired Teddy, with an uneasy look.

" Shouldn't wonder, boss; for we're ago-
in right toward 'em."

"Faith, thin," said Teddy, turning
slightly pale, " maybe it's the wrong road
ye're going now]"

" O, ye needn't fear Pll miss the track,"
answered the old hunter, who put a literal
construction on the Irishman's words. " I
know the ground as well as you know your
own daddy."

" Agh! and well ye may, Misther George,
and have little to brag on the whiles, jist,"
rejoined the other quickly. " But what I
maan is, it's maybe if we take anither way,
we'll not rin among the divils and git
made maat of as ye calls it, now."

" Why, Teddy," said I, " you are not be-
coming alarmed at this stage of the jour-
ney I hope]"

" Och, no! it's not alar-r-med meself is
gittin at all, at all, barring a little fright
maybe I has for your honor's safety."

" O, never mind me, Teddy," I replied.
" Lassure you I am doing very weU, and

of course prepared myself to vm all ha^z-
ards before I came here."

«« Well," observed Huntly, « I think we
had better set forward ikgain, and select
our camp early."

"That's a fact," cried Black George,
springing to his feet with the agility of a
youth of twenty: "You is right, boy-
right. Come, Tom, we's a-goin to put;"
and he turned toward his saddle mule. —
"Hey! what!" he exclaimed suddenly,
with a stress upon the words that instant-
ly brought us all round him, eager to learn
the cause.

But nothing could we discover, save that
the old mule alluded to was snuffing the
air, with her ears bent forward and point-
ing steadily in one direction. Two or
three words, however, from the old trap-
per, sufficed to enlighten and alarm us at
the same time.

" Itijfns, boys — rifles ready — Suke's no
liar." Then turning to Tom, who had
also started to his feet on hearing the first
exclamation of Black George, he added:
" Split for cover, Tom, and hunt for* sign.' "

Scarcely was the sentence out of the
old man's mouth, ere Tom was out of sight;
for understanding all at a glance, he had
turned at the first word, and, leaping across
the stream, dissippeared in a thicket on the
other side.

I felt queer, I must own, for it was the
first time that danger had become appa-
rent to me; and this being concealed, I
knew not what to expect, and of course
magnified it considerably. Besides, the
story I had just heard, together with the
quick and decisive movements of the trap-
pers, led me to anticipate a sudden onset
from a large body of Indians. Determin-
ed to sell my life dearly, I grasped my rifle
in one hand, and loosened my pistols and
knife with the other. I cast a quick glance
upon Huntly, and saw that he was alse
prepared for the worst. His features had
paled a little, his brow was slightly wrin-
kled, and his lips compressed, showing a
stern resolve. But the Irishman, in spite
of my fears, amused me. Instead of
bringing up his rifle ready for an aim, Ted-
dy had griped it midway, and was whirl-
ing it over his head as he would a shda-

44

1?HE PRAIRIE PLOWERj

lab, tbe ^htle raising firilt one foot and
then the other in jg^^eat ezcitement, as if
treading 6n live coa]s, his face flushed,
his eyes fixed in one direction, his nostrils
expanded, and his breast heaving with hard
breathing.

''Quick!" exclaimed Black George;
" fetch roond the animals, and make a
breast-work to cover."

Instantly Huntly and I sprang to our
horses, and the old trapper to his mules,
while the Irishman, heeding nothing that
was said, still continued his laborious gy-
rations. In less than a minute the ani-
mals were arranged in our front, and we
were repriming our fire-weapons, and pre-
paring to r^pel the attack manfully, should
one be made. A minute of silence suc-
ceeded, when Black George cried out to
Teddy:

" D*ye want to be made meat on, you
thunderin fool! that you^tand thar like a
monkey target?"

But the Hibernian either did not hear,
or, hearing, did not heed.

« Teddy," I shouted.

"Here, your honor!" answered Teddy,
running up and crawling under my horse,
he having been standing outside of our
animal breast-work.

" What were you doin^ out there, Ted-
dy!"

<' Troth, I was gitting my hand in, jist."

^ Yes, and you might hev got a bullet in
your meat-bag," rejoined the old trapper,
dryly.

"Ah!" said Teddy, dolefully, " if ye'll
belave me now, it's that same doings that
wbries meselt the most in this kind of
fighting. Barring the shooting and the
danger attinding it, it's me mother's son
as wouldn't mind fighting at all, at all."

" There are a great many such heroes
in the world," I rejoined, with a smile;
" and most men are brave when there is
no danger. But I'll exonerate you from
being a coward, Teddy, for you once nobly
saved my life; but at the same time I
think I shall have to give you a few less-
ons when this affair is over, so that you
will be able to act becomingly, under like
circumstances, and know the proper use
of your rifle."

" Hist!" said Black George at this mo-
ment.

All becaiie a dead silence. Presently
the faint cawing of a distant crow was
heard in the wood nearest us.

" Injin sign — but no sudden dash," ob-
served the old trapper again.

" Indeed !" I exclaimed, in surprise; " aiid
pray how came you by your information!"

" Jest as easy as you ken look at pot-
hooks and tell what they sez," answered
the mountaineer. " You know how to
read a heap in bqoks; I know how to read
the sign o' nater; and both is good in thar
places. You heerd that crow, I'm think-
inV'

" I did."

" Well that was Darin Tom speakin to
me, and tellin me what I told you."

Ere I had time to express my surprise,
the person in question made his appear-
ance, leaping nimbly across the little
creek, and gliding up to us as silently as
an Indian.

" What's the sign!" asked Black George.

" Pawnees," was the answer.

" How'd they number, and which way)"

" Twenty odd, and toward the sothe."

"After hair!"

" I reckon."

" Be apt to trouble us?"

" Think they passed with thar eyes
shut."

"Playin possum maybe. How long
gonel"

" Less nor a quarter."

" Then Suke must hev smelt 'em. She's
a knowin one, is Suke, and don't fool her
time. Spect we'd better put out and look
for camp?"

" I reckon."

"Augh!"

Although this kind of dialogue ^as new
to me, I nevertheless was able to under-
stand that a body of Pawnees had passed
us, and was either not aware of our prox-
imity, or did not care to make an attack
upon us in broad daylight. As the moun-
taineers concluded, they instantly mounted
their mules and set forward; and springing
upon our horses, we kept them company.
As we left the little cove — if I may so
term it — by way of the prairie, we were

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WESr.

45

surprised to m6et Fiery Ned and Rasfa
Will on their return to join us.

** Weill" said Black George, interroga-
tively.

** Injins," returned Rash Will.

« Ahead or abindl"

*' Moccasins to the sothe."

"We've seed 'em — augh!"

No more was said; but wheeling their
animals, the two mountaineers silently
joined the cavallada, and we all moved
forward together. '

The country over which we were now
passing, was exceedingly beautiful .and
picturesque. Alternately well timbered
bottoms — steep, craggy, barren bluffs —
open, rolling prairies — met our view; while
sparkling little streams, winding around in
every direction, appeared like silver threads
fastening the whole together.

On our way hither, we had passed through
Independence, one of the most important
points in Missouri for obtaining an outfit,
and taking much the same route as that
liow followed by Oregon emigrants, had
crossed the Caw or Kansas river a day or
two previous to our camp on the prairie,
of which I have given a description. Al-
though this, as I then said, was our first
camp on the prairie, I wish the reader to
distinctly understand it was not our first
encampment beyond the boundaries of civi-
lization. But as I did not care to trouble
him with a tedious journey, which produced
no important incident, I jumped over our
progress to the time when I felt our adven-
tures had really begun. I say this in
explanation, lest having travelled the
route himself, he might be puzzled to un-
derstand how, in so short a time from the
raising of our camp, we could have be-
come so far advanced.

It was now the middle of June, and the
flan poured down his heat with great in-
tensity, so that our animals perspired free-
ly, and seemed far more inclined to linger
in the shade when we passed a timbered
spot, than to hurry forward in the open
sunshine. Nevertheless we managed, be-
fore the sun sunk to rest, to put a good
thirty miles between us and our camp of
the previous evening. Reaching at last a
smooth, pleasant spot — ^belted with hills,

not unlike the ond of cor noonday JhAt,
through which likewise murmtired and spar-
kled a little rivulet — ^we paused and decid-
ed to camp at once. In a few minutes our
animals were hobbled, and regaling them-
selves with great gusto upon the sweet,
green blade which here grew exuberantly.
" Somebody'll hev to stand sentinel to-
night," observed Black George, as we seat-
ed ourselves around the fire, which had
been kindled for the purpose of toasting
our meat, and keeping off the wild beasts.
" Who's agoin to claim the privilege 1"

No one answered; but the other trap-
pers all looked toward Huntly and myself,
which I was not slow to understand

" Do you think there is any danger to-
night)" I inquired.

" Thar's never a time in this part of the
world when thar isn't, stranger," was the
answer.

" But do you apprehend an attack from
the savages to-night?"

" Maybe, and maybe not; but you know
what hap'd to-day, and thar's sign about,
clear as mud."

"Well, if you think I will answer the
purpose, I am ready to volunteer my ser-
vices."

The old trapper mused a moment, shook
his head, and replied:

" I'm feared not. I'll keep guard my-
self; for you be young, and mightn't know
a Rijin from a tree; and it's like thar'll be
powder burnt afore mornin."

Although these words portended danger,
yet so fatigued was I from my day's travel,
that in less than two hours from the time
they were spoken, in common with the
rest — Black George excepted, who, pipe
in mouth, and rifle in hand, remained
squatted before the fire — I was sound
asleep.

CHAPTER IX.

A PAINFUL DREAM — ATTACK FROM THE PAW-
NEES — ALARM — TREEING — COWARDICR
OP THE WESTERN INDIANS— COLD-BLOOD-
ED MUTILATION — COOLNESS AND VALOR OF
THE MOUNTAINEERS.

I was once more in my native land. —

45

THE PRAIRTE FLOWER;

Time had flown rapidly, yeara had rolled
ojLward, thousands on thousands of miles
had been gone over, and now I stood in
the city of my nativity. Strange and pow*
erful emotions stirred me. I was wendiug
my way through the old and well remem-
bered streets to the home of one who had
been daily and nightly in my thoughts du-
ring my long absence. I already pictured
myself entering her abode, and the start
and thrill of joyful surprise on her behold-
ing me again. At length I reached the
well l^nown mansion. There it stood, just
as I had left it. There were the same
steps I had ascended, and the bell I had
rung on the night when I had so abruptly
and cruelly torn myself from her sweet
presence. I "felt a nervous tremor run
through my whole system. I could scarce-
ly stand. My heart seemed to shrink into
nothing, my blood began to curdle in my
veins, and my quaking limbs refused to do
my bidding. There I stood, shaking like
an aspen leaf, afraid to go forward, unwill-
ing to retreat. At length, by a great ef-
fort, I grew more calm. With a fresh de-
termination not to be conquered by my-
self, I rushed up the steps and rang the
bell. A servant appeared. But he was
not the one I had expected to behold; not
the one that had answered my former sum-
mons; his face was new to me. This was
a change, it is true, and produced some
very unpleasant feelings ; but this was
a common one, and tiothing to alarm
me.

<' Is Miss Huntly at. homeV T inquired.

" Miss Huntly don't live here, sir."

"What!" cried I, gasping for breath,
" not live here)"

" No, sir! this is Mr. Wharton's house."

"Wharton! Yes, well, he— he — is —
narriedl"

" Yes, sir, he's married."

" Who did he marry 1"

" Don't know, sir."

" Was it— a-Lilian Huntly 1"

"No indeed, I guess it wasn't. He
wouldn't look at her, I know."

" Not look at her, villain! why not?"
and, excited beyond reason, I seized my
informant by the collar. " Why would he
not look at her, wretchi" I repeated,, hoarse-

ly. " Tell me quickly, or I will daah your
brains out at my feet!"

" Ga-cause she's poor," was the trem-
bling reply.

" Poorl" I shouted.

" Ye-yes, sir."

".And where is she to be foundV

" Just round that alley yonder — first door
on the left."

I followed with my eyes the direction
indicated by the finger of my informant,
and the next moment found the door slam-
med in my fdce. But for this I cared not.
Lilian was in trouble. With one .bound I
cleared the steps, and darting down the
street, turned the corner of the alley,
and stood before a miserable wooden
house.

"Great God!" I cried, mentally, "the
home of Lilian, dear Lilian!" and the next
moment, without pausing to knock, I burst
open the door and entered a miserable
apartment, scantily furnished.

The first object that fixed my attention
was sweet Lilian herself; but oh! how al-
tered! how pale! how wo-begone her look!
Her dress and appearance bespoke pover-
ty and suffering, and chilled my blood. .

" Lilian!" I cried, rushing towards her
with outstretched arms.

She rose — stared at me — a frightful ex-
pression swept over her pale, grief-worn,
but still lovely features — she struggled for-
ward — gasped — and, uttering my name,
with a terrible shriek, sunk senseless into
my arms.

At this moment the door was burst
rudely open, and Wharton, with eyes
gleaming fire, pistol in hand, rushed into
the apartment. Ere I had time for thought^
the pistol flashed, the report rang in my
ears, and the ball buried itself in the head
of my beloved Lilian. With a shriek of
horror, I dropped her lifeless body, and — .
atDoke,

I looked up, and saw Huntly bending
over me, and heard a confused noise, the
discharge of firearms, and, rising above ail
the din, the yells of savages.

"Awake, Frank! — ^up — for God's sake!
— we are attacked!" cried Huntly.

Instantly I sprang to my feet, complete-
ly bewildered.

oft, ADVENTURES IM THE PAR WEST.

47

"Tree, tree, ot you're dead nigger!"
shouted a voice behind me.

I turned around, but was still too much
confused to understand what was meant.
The next moment Huntly seized me by the
arm, and hurriedly dragging me to a neigh-
boring tree, thrust me behind it on the side
farthest from the fire. I had cause to be
thankful for this; for as I moved from the
spot where I had stood, a ball whizzed past
me, which, had it been sped a second soon-
er, had doubtless proved fatal.

I now learned, from a few hurried words
spoken by my friend., that the Indians-
supposed to be Pawnees, and, in fact, the
same party which had alarmed us at Cot-
ton's Creek — had made a sudden dash at
our animals, which were picketed within
pistol shot of the fire, and, with loud yells,
had discharged their pieces and arrows into
our camp, fortunately without doing us
any injury. In a moment every one was
on his feit); with the exception of myself,
who, as the reader knows, was lost in the
mazes of a troublesome dream, and had
actually converted the screeches of the
savages into cries from Lilian, and the re-
port of firearms into the fatal shot from
the pistol of one I had looked upon as a
rival. Each of the trappers had hurriedly
sought his tree, while the Irishman, though
a good deal bewildered, had had presence
of mind and good sense enough to imitate
their example. Huntly of course could
not leave me to perish, and had paused to
rouse me in the manner shown.

By this time all had become silent as
the grave. Our camp fire was still burn-
ing brightly, and by its light we could trace
a large circle round it; but not an object,
save our animals — some of which, particu-
larly the mules, snuffed and snorted, and
appeared very restless — was seen to stir.
One would suppose, to have gazed around
him in tliat warm, still night, that not a
^creature more dangerous than the fire- fly
and musquito was at hand, to disturb the
now seemingly deep and solemn solitude
of the place. In this way some two or
three minmtes passed, during which you
could have heard the fall of a leaf, when
suddenly the stillness was broken by the
report of a rifle within twenty feet of me,

and was suoceeded by a yell of agony f ome
thirty paces distant in another direction,
while an Indian, whom I had not before
observed, staggered forward, and fell with-
in the circle lighted by the fire. ^

Now it was, as if the whole wilderness*^
were full of demons, that the most terrific
yells resounded on all sides, and some fif-
teen or twenty savages, naked all but the
breech-clout, hideously painted, were seen
dodging among the scattering trees, mak-
ing toward us, and discharging their mus-
kets and bows at random. A bullet strik-
ing the stock of my rifle just above where
my hand grasped it, splintering it, and
sending some of th^ pieces into my face,
maddened me not a little; and I vowed
revenge upon the first savage I could lay
eyes on.

" Give the skunks h — !" shouted a voice;
and ere the words were fairly uttered, some
three or foiir rifles belched forth their deadly
contents, and three more savages rolled
howling in the dust.

At this moment I discovered a powerful
Indian making toward me, not ten feet dis-
tant, his basilisk eyes fairly shining like
two coals of fire; and raising my rifle
quick as lightning to my face, without
pausing even to sight it, I lodged the con-
tents in his body. He staggered back,
partly turned to fly, reeled, and then with
a howl of rage fell to the earth a corpse.

The Indians of the Par West of the
present day, are not the Indians of former
times, whose wigwam. <» once rose where
now stand our cities and hamlets, and
whose daring in war, when led by a Phil-
lip, a Pontiac, or a Tecumsah, could only
be excelled by their cunning and ferocity.
No! far from it. The present tribes have
degenerated wonderfully. They are, take
them as a whole, a dirty, cowardly, despi-
cable set, without one noble trait, and not
worth the powder it takes to kill them. —
They will attack you, it is true; but then
they must trebble you in numbers; and if
they fail in killing or completely overpow-
ering you at the onset, ten to one but they
will beat a hasty retreat, and leave you
master of the field.

Of such dastardly wretches was com-
posed the party which had assailed us. —

^

4».

THE PRAIRIE PLOWEE;

Although vastly superior to us in numbers,
they now seemed completely thunderstruck
at the result of an attack which, doubtless,
they had counted on as certain victory. —
Five of their party had already bitten the
dust, and yet not one of us had been touch-
ed. Notwithstanding this, even, had they
possessed one half ^he courag e and daring
of their eastern forefathers, they might to
all appearance have annihilated us. But
no! they (Zare<i not longer fight for victory.
Like frightened poltroons, as they were,
they wavered for a moment, and then, as
their last hope, made a " break" for our
animals, with the intention of seizing and
making off with them, and thus leaving us
to foot our long journey. But even in this
they failed, through their own cowardice;
for comprehending their intent, the trap-
pers, with yells as savage as their own,
sprang from their trees, and rushing to-
ward them, they instantly abandoned their
\Y d esi gnw aad-again most ingloriously fled.
"^ Two of our party, however. Fiery Ned
and Rash Will, were far from being satis-
fied with even this victory. Maddened
with rage, and a desire of farther revenge,
they actually leaped onward after the fu-
gitives, and quickly disappeared from our
view. For a time we could hear them
shouting and yelling; but gradually the
sounds grew fainter and more faint, until
at last nothing whatever could be heard.

" The infernal skunks!" said Black
George, stepping out from behind his tr6e,
and giving vent to a quiet, inward laugh,
peculiar to men of his profession. " Reck-
on they'll stay put a ie^^ and not trouble
US agin in a hurry;" and again he laughed
as before. " But what fools Ned and Will
is] They're never content with a fair
whip, but must al'ays be tryin to do a heap
more; and some day they'll git thar hair
raised and go under with a vengeance, or
I'm no sinner. But I say, Tom!"

*•' Well, hossi"

*•' Didn't we throw 'em purtyl"

" Well we did, old coon."

" I'll be dog-gone ef we 'didn't. Come,
let's lift thar hair — augh!"

With this, both trappers drew their
knives, and taking from a little bag at-
tached to their garments a small aand-

i

stone, commenced sharpening them with
as much indiflerence as if they were about
to slice a buffalo, rather than dip them in
the blood of human beings. When done,
their whetstones were carefully replaced,
and then turning to me, who with Hunt-
ly and Teddy had meantime gathered
around the two, the old mountaineer said:

"Boy, you've done somethin for the fust
time, and needn't be ashamed on't. Throw-
ed him cOld in his tracks, I'll be dog-gone
ef you didn't!" and he nodded toward the
Indian I had slain. " Well, he's your meat;
and so at him and raise his top-knot afore
he gits cold."

I shuddered at the bare thought of such
barbarity, and involuntarily shrunk back.

" O, then you're a leetle squeamish, hey 1
Well I've heerh tell o' sich things afore;
but it won't last long, Bosson, take my
word for't. Ef you don't raise hair afore
you're a thousand year older, jest call me
a liar and stop off my bacca." #

" No!" I replied, firmly: " I could never
be brought to degrade myself by a custom
which originated with, and if it must still
be practiced should ever belong to, the
savage. I may kill an Indian in my own
defence, but I cannot mutilate him when
dead. I was bred in a very different
school." yL.-.

"Bread,be !"returued Black George, -

not comprehending my meaning. " This
here ain't bread — it's meat; and as to
skule, as you calls it, why that ar belongs
to the settlements; and haint got nothin
to do out hereaway s in thq woods. Eh !
Tom]"

« Well it haint."

" No, I'll be rumfuzzled ef it hev! And
so, stranger, ef you want to show you're
smart a heap, you'll jest lift that ar skunk's .
hair and say no more about it. Eh!
Tom]"

"Fact!— aiigh!"

"No!" I rejoined in a decisive tone, " I
will have nothing to do with it. If you
choose to scalp the Indian, that is no busi-
ness of mine; but I will not so degrade
myself."

" Well, ef your mind's made up, in
course it's no use o' talkin; and'eo, Toni}
let's begin to slice." ,

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

49

/

C(

At this moment we heard the report
of a distant rifle, quickly followed by an-
other.

" Them boys is eyther throwed now, or
else some Injins hev f;ot rubbed out," ob-
senred Black Georffe,indiiFerently. " Come,
Tom, let's lift."

Saying this, the old trapper and his
companion set about their bloody work.
The first Indian they came to was not
dead; and running his knife into his heart,
with a barbarous coolness that made me
shudder, Black George observed:
That's your meat, Tom."
[e then passed on, leaving the latter to
Qnish the bloody task. Bending over the
now dead savage, and seizing him by the
hair of the head — which, instead of a long
lock or cue as worn by some tribes, was
short and ridged, like the comb of a fowl —
Daring Tom ran his knife round the skull-
bone with a scientific flourish, tore oflf the
scalp, and knocking it on the ground to
free it as much as possible of gouts of
blood, coolly attached it to his girdle, and
proceeded to the next.

"What a horrid custom!" I exclaimed,
turning to Huntly.

« It is, truly," he replied. " But then
you know, Frank, it is one that belongs to
the Indian and mountaineer; and as we
have come among them voluntarily, we
have no right of course to quarrel with
them for it."

"Be jabers!" cried Teddy, "is it mur-
thering the Injins twice they is, now, your
honors!"

" It would seem so," replied Huntly, with
a smile.

" Faith, and your honor, and it's meself
as thinks they naad it, sure, the blathering
spalpeens, to be coming round us paceable
citizins wid their nonsense, and cuthin^r
our treats. Och! if I'd a knowed how to
lit oflf this bothersome article, (holding
up his rifle) I'd a killed a dozen o' the
baastly crathurs^ I would."

« Why, Teddy," I rejoined, « I thought
you knew how to shoot a rifle? — at least
you told us so."

Teddy scratched his head, and put on a
very comical look, as he replied:

** Yfiii, but ye sae, your honor, it was an

Irish rifle I was spaking of, barring that it
wasn't made in Ireland at all, at all, but in
France, jist."

" But I thought they did not allow you
to use rifles in Ireland, Teddy 1"

" No more they don't; but thin, ye sae,
it isn't sich murthering things as this now
they uses."
" What then?"

" Why, I most forgit meself," returned
the Irishman, with a perplexed look, again
scratching his head. "Och! now I come
to think on't, I belave it shot wid a long
stick, and that it wasn't meself as shot it
at all, at all, but me mother's father that
knowed sich things — pace to his ashes."

" Teddy," I rejoined, assuming a serioue
tone which I was very far from feeling," it
is evident that this is the first rifle you
ever laid hands on, and that the story you
told us on the boat, about your exploits in
shooting, was without the least foundation
whatever."

" Ah! troth, it's like it maybe," answer-
ed the Hibernian, penitently, with a sigh.
" It's like it maybe, your honor; for divil a
thing else can me make out of it. But ye
sae, ye questioned me close now, and Ps
afeared that didn't I have the qualifica-
tions ye axed, I'd not be naaded; and as I
saan ye was raal gintlemen, and no blath-
ers of spalpeens, it was going wid your-
sel's Teddy O'Lagherty was afther doing,
if he towld a story jiat — for which howly
Mary forgive me!"

" Well, well, Teddy, never mind," I said,
smiling. " I will show you the use of the
rifle the first convenient opportunity; and
so let what is past be forgotten."

"Ah!" cried the grateful Irishman, dof-
fing his beaver and making a low bow, " I
knowed ye was gintlemen, your honors,
e^ery inch of yees, and wouldn't be hard
upon a poor forlorner like meself."

"Ha!" exclaimed Huntly," listen!" and
at the moment we heard the gloomy howl
of a pack of wolves.

" They already smell the feast prepared
for them," I rejoined.

" Well, Frank, let us return to our camp
fire; for I see the trappers have nearly
completed their unenvif^ble task.'^
Acting upon his sii^ges^ionwe set for*

bo

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

xrard, and gaining the fire, were aoon join-
«d by Black George and Daring Tom, who
came up with five bloody scalps dangling
at their girdles — bringing with them also
some two or three rifles, a fresh supply of
powder and ball, and virious other trifles
which they had taken from the dead In-
dians.

" I think we can count a coup this heat,"
observed the old mountaineer, with his pe-
culiar, quiet laugh: "Eh! Tom?"

" We can't do nothin else," was the sat-
isfactory response.

" I say, Tom, them wolves smell blood."

« Wdl they does."

" Thar's plenty o* meat for 'em, any
how; and ef they'll jest foUer us, and them
skunks of Pawnees want to try this here
over agin, we'll make 'em fat. Eh! Tom J"

" Will so-o."

" Yos, I'll be dog-gone ef we don't! But
I say, Tom, aint it most time for Rash and
Fire to be inl"

" I reckon."

" H6pe they didn't git throwed. It 'ud
be a pity to hev them go under jest now—
and would spile all our sport."

" Well it would, boss."

" Hark! thar goes a whistle! That's
them, or I'm a nigger."

" 'Taint nobody else," responded Daring
Tom.

" All right. Augh! Let's smoke."

Squatting themselves upon the ground,
cross-legged, the trappers filled their pipes,
«nd commenced puffing away as though
nothiug had happened to disturb their
equanimity. Such perfect recklessness of
life, such indiflerence to danger, I had nev-
er seen displayed before; and though I ab-
horred some of their customs,! oould not
but admire their coolness and vak)r. Their
sense of hearing I soon discovered was
far more acute than mine; for when the
old trapper spoke of the whistle of his
omrades, I could not, for the life of me,
detect a distant sound proceeding from
human lips. But that he was right, was
soon evident; for in less than five minutes
after. Fiery Ned and Rash Will made their
appearance, and quietly stealing .up to the
circle, threw themselves upon the ground
without a remark. At the belt of each

hung a frosh scalp, shewing that two more

of the enemy had been their victims.

For some time the two smoked away in
silence, and then suggesting to the others
the propriety of joining them, all four were
soon in full blast. After a little, they be-
gan to talk over their exploits; and amu-
sing themselves in this way for an hour or
more, one after another straightened him-
self out on the earth, an example which
Teddy soon imitated, and in five minutes
all were lost in sleep.

As for Huntly and myself, slumber had
fled our eyelids; and stirring the fire, we
seated ourselves at a little distance and
talked till day light — I narrating my singular
dream, and both commenting upon it. All
night long we heard the howling of the
ravenous wolves, as they tore the flesh
from the bones of our dead foes, and occa-
sionally caught a gleam of their fiery eye-
balls, when they ventured nearer than usu-
al to our camp.

CHAPTER X.

JOURNEY KESUM£I>— UNPLEASANT FEELINGS
— CAMP — RESTLESSNESS — A HALF FORM-
ED RESOLUTION — THE LONELY WATCH-
TERRIFIC THUNDER STORM — PAINFUL SB-

PARATION — ^JOYFUL MEETING ^LOSS OF

ANIMALS — SECOND CAMP.

At an early hour in the morning we re-
sumed our journey. As we moved along,
I beheld the bones of two of our late foes,
basking white and ghastly in the sunlight,
their clean-licked, shiny skulls, hollow
sockets, and grinning teeth and jaws, fair-
ly making my flesh to creep. And the
more so, perhaps, as I took into considera-
tion that only a few hours before, these
same bones belonged to animated human
beings; and that a mere turn of the wheel
of fate might have placed me in their po-
sition, they in mine. Death is a solemn
thing to contemplate at any time, and I was
now in a mood to feel its terrors in* more
than their 'wonted force. My dream, al-
tjiough I tried to dispel it as only a dreami
still made a deep impression upon my

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST,

51

»

mind; and this, toother with what occur-
red afterwards, and the remembrance of
the conversation I had held with mj friend
the morning previous, touching Lilian, all
tended to depress my spirits and make
me melancholy.

At length, to rouse me from my sinking
stupor, I turued my eyes upon Huntly; but
perceiving that he too was deep in thought,
I did not disturb his revery; while my own
mind settling back into itself, if I may be
permitted the expression) wandered far
away to the past, recalled a thousand old
scenes, and th^n leaped forward to the fu-
ture, and became perplexed in conjectures
regarding my final fate.

About noon we reached the banks of the
Blue river, and, as on the preceding day,
halted a few miuutes ts rest and refresh
ourselves and animals. Here I noticed
trees of oak, ash, walnut and hickory, with
occasionally one of cottonwood and wil-
low. The bottoms of this stream are of-
ten wide and fertile, on which the wild
pea vine grows in abundance. The pea
itself is somewhat smaller than that grown
in the settlements, and can bo used as ve-
getable, its flavor being agreeable.

As our meat was now running short.
Daring Tom observed that he would *' make
somethin come;" and setting forth with his
rifle, soon returned heavily laden with wild
turkeys. Hastily dressing, we threw them
into our possible sacks, and again set for-
ward.

Travelling some fifteen miles through
woodland and over prairie, we encamped
at last in a beautiful little grove of ash
and hickory, on the margin of a creek that
flowed into the Blue. The day had been
excessively hot and sultry, and all of us
were much fatigued. Starting a fire as
usual, we cooked some of our turkey meat,
and found it very delicious. As no Indian
sign had been discovered through the day,
it was thought unnecessary to set a guard,
and accordingly we stretched ourselves
upon the earth around the fire, and in a
few minutes, with the exception of my-
self, all were sound asleep.

I could not rest. I tried to, but in vain«
The air was filled with musquitoes, and
various other iBsects attracted hither by

the fire-lighti and thef annoyed me ex*
ceedingly. This was not aU. My mind,
as in fact it had been throughout the day ,
was sorely depressed^ A thousand thoughts
that I vainly strove to banish, obtruded
themselves upon me. In spite of myself,
I thought of my dream. Pshaw! whv
should that trouble mel It could not be
true, I knew; and was only caused by the
previous remarks of Huntly, my excited
feelings, and surrounding circumstances.
Still it came up in my mind, as startlingly
as I had dreamed it; and, in spite of my
scofiings, with every appearance of reali-
ty. I was not naturally superstitious, and
did not believe in dreams — but this one
haunted me as a foreboding of evil to her
I loved; and as I lay and meditated, I half
formed the resolution to set out in the
morning upon my return, already sick of
my undertaking.

It is one thing to read of adventures in
others, and another to experience them
ourself; and this I felt, O! how keen-
ly! To strengthen my resolution, I pic-
tured the home of my parents, the sadngss
which I knew must be preying upon them
on account of my absence, and the flash
of joy that would light their faces and
warm their hearts on beholding their only
son once more seated at their firesider
never to depart again while he or they
were blessed with life. I thought over all*
this, and grew stronger in my new re-
solve; and had it not been fur the whim*
sical fear of ridicule — the idle jest of some
coxcomb fool, for whose opinion or regard
in any other way I cared not a straw — it
is more than probable this narrative had
not been written.

What a powerful engine is ridicule! It
is the battering-ram of the mind, and will
often destroy by a single blow the mightiest
frabric of reason. It is used by fools and
men whose minds are too imbecile to cope
with the edifice of thought which towers
above their limited grasp, and yet the very
architect of such construction fears it, as
does the poor red-man the annihilating ar-
tillery of the pale-face.

1 lay and thought; and the more I
thought, the more restless I became. I
rolled to and fro in aa agony of mixid that

53

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

at last became intolerable, and I arose.
Stealing quietly from the sleeping circle,
I proceeded to the creek, and having mois-
tened my parched and feverish lips and
bathed my heated temples and brow, 1 took
my way thence to a little bluff on the op-
posite side, whence I could overlook the
valley for a considerable extent.

Seating myself upon a rock, I gazed
around. Below was our camp fire, bright-
ly burning, beside which I could trace,
with a shadowy distinctness, the outlines
of the sleepers' dark forms. There they
lay, all unconscious to the outer wor]d,
perhaps enjoying the pleasure of some de-
lightful dream. How I envied them their
sleep." Beyond them, by the same light,
I could faintly perceive our animals — hob-
bled, but not picketed, the latter being
thought unnecessary — quietly grazing.

It was a warm, still, starlight night. —
Above me the heavens were brilliantly
studded with myriads of shining orbs
whose light fell softly and sweetly upon
the sleeping earth. Here not a scud
fioaM in the clear atmosphere; but in the
west I could perceive huge, black clouds
of monstrous shapes, lifting their ill-shaped
•heads above the horizon, darting forth the
red bolts of heaven, while a far-off-rum-
bling sound came jarringly upon my ear.
Fixing my gaze at last in tbis direction,
I sat and watched the rapid progress t)f
an approaching storm. On it came like
a mighty squadron, a few fleecy clouds as
banners thrown out in advance, behind
which flashed and thundered its dread ar-
tillery, making the very earth tremble be-
neath the sound.

From youth up, the rapid play of light-
ning had strongly affected my nervous sys-
tem,'"and made rae a coward; and now —
lonely, sad and gloomy — I was in a proper
condition to feel its effects more seosibly
than ever. Half an hour passed, and the
rolling clouds had darkened the western
heavens, while the almost incessant flashes
of fire seemed to set the earth in a blaze,
and then vanishing, left it shrouded in a
darkness almost impenetrable.

Dismal as was the scene, I sat with my
eyes riveted upon it, while a painful sense
^f awe made m^ }\mh» feel weak and my

blood move sluggishly through my veins,
or rush over me with flashes of feverish
heat. Several times I arose with the
intention of returning to camp, but as
often resumed my former position, as if
enchained to the spot by some powerful,
magic spell.

On came the storm with startling velo-
city, and presently I could see the tops of
distant trees bending to the blast — the rain
falling in broad, white sheets, as if about
to deluge the earth — and hear the truly dis-
mal roaring of the rushing winds. I would
have returned to my companions now, but
our camp afforded no protection, and I fan-
cied myself as safe where I was.

At last it broke upon me in all its force;
and such a storm I never witnessed before,
and hope never to again. I feel myself
Id competent to describe it. The rain fell
in torrents; the wind blew a perfect hurri-
cane; and tall, old trees, which had per-
haps stood for centuries, were broken and
uprooted; while others, together with sur-
rounding rocks, were shattered by the fiery
bolts, and the crashing thunder fairly deaf-
ened me. How I maintained my position
— why I was not hurled headlong down the
cliff — is still a mystery to myself. Occa-
sionally I caught a glimpse of my compan-
ions moving about below, evidently trying
to secure their powder from the storm,
while Huntly was running to and fro in
search of his friend, and, to all appearance,
surprised, alarmed and distressed. Our
animals too had become frightened, and
rearing and plunging, they soon broke
loose of their tethers, and dashed madly-
over the plain in every direction. I would
have joined my companions now, but this
had become impossible; for the rain had
already swelled the little creek between
me and them into a mighty stream, that
rolled its dark, angry waters with fury be-
low me, and added its sullen roar to th&
bowlings of the storm. I shouted, but my
voice was lost even to myself in the
mightier ones of the furious elements.

Two hours — two long, never-to-be-for-
gotten hours — did the storm rage thus in
fury; and in those two hours methought I
lived a lifetime. Then to my jqy it began
to abate; and in half an honr WQre I 9gain

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

63

beheld the twinkling stars throngh rents
in the driving clouds; while the flushing
lightning and the roaring thunder, gradual*
ly becoming less and less distinct to eye and
ear, told me the devastating storm was fast
speeding onward to the east.

I now descended to the creek to join my
companions; but finding it too much swol-
len to attempt a passage with safety, I
again ascended the cliff and shouted to
them to assure them of my safety. At
first I could not make them hear; but af-
ter repeated trials, I had the satisfaction
of receiving an answering shout from
Huntly, who immediately set off in the di-
rection whence he supposed my voice pro-
ceeded. After a few minutes' search, du-
ring which we both called to each other
continually, Huntly was enabled to make
out my locality — but the creek prevented
our meeting during the night.

At day- break I discovered him and Ted-
dy standing on the opposite side; and as
the flood had a little subsided, I plunged in
and swam across — not, however, without
much difficulty and danger, nor until the
rushing waters had borne me some forty
or fifty yards down the stream. No soon-
er was I safe on the bank, than Huntly
threw his arms around my neck and wept
like a chiht.

"Thank God! Frank, my friend," he
exclaimed, " that I am able to clasp you
once again! O! if you could but know
my feelings of last night! T thought you
were loit — lost to me forever!" and again
he was forced to dash the tears from his
eyes. "But tell me, Frank — how came
you there]"

I proceeded to detail every particular.

" A horrible night to you, too, Frank,"
said Huntly, in reply. " But hereafter, my
friend, you must not steal away from me
in this way. If yon have troubles, share
them with me."

Teddy was g[reatly rejoiced to see me also ;
and he got me by the hand, and by the leg,
and capered around me like a delighted
child — at the same time uttering various
phrases in his peculiar style, which, in
spite of all that had happened, did not fail
to amuse and sometimes make me laugh
aloud.

I found the trappers surly and grumbling
at what they considered their ill luck— be-
ing for the most part in the loss of a few
pounds of powder, and their mules — all of
which had escaped, as well as our horses.

"Augh!" grunted Black George as I
came up. " Glad to see you, boy. Thought
youM gone under. It was ^a screecher of
a night, wasn't it? Lost heaps of pow-
der, and all the critters gone to the •— ^.
Augh!"

My powder had fortunately been so
packed that nearly all was safe; and as I
had a great store on hand, I gave each of
the mountaineers a pound, which served
to put them in a better humor.

We now separated and set off in differ-
ent directions to hunt our animals, with
the understanding that this should be our
rendezvous. We had a wearisome time of
it, and it was late in the day before we all
got together again. All, however, had
been recovered; and mounting, we set for-
ward once more rather briskly, and en-
camped some ten miles distant.

CHAPTER XI.

OUR COURSE ALONG THE PLATTE — KILLING
AND DRESSING A BUFFALO— THEIR PATHS
— ^THE PRAIRIE-DOG— THEIR TOWNS, AP-
PEARANCE, HABITS, FOOD, ETC. — THE SOL-
ITARY TOWER — CHIMNEY ROCK — SOOTT's
BLUFFS — ORIGIN OF THE NAME — FORT
LARAMIE — ^ARRIVAL AT — ITS APPEAR-
ANCE, INMATES, ETC. — CURIOSITY.

The next morning we set forward again,
and keeping a northwesterly course, most-
ly over a rolling prairie, encamped on the
second night on the banks of the Nebras-
ka or Platte river. This river is very shal-
low, and flows over a sandy bed. We found
the bottom at this point some three or i^ur
miles wide, devoid of a tree, and covered
with excellent grass, besprinkled with a
salinous substance, which caused our ani-
mals to devour it greedily.

Setting our faces westward, we now
followed the course of the Platte for
several days, without a single inci-

64

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

dent worlTi being recorded. The Platte
bottoms we found to vary from two to four
miles in breadth, and in some places our
animals fared slimly. On the fourth day,
Fiery Ned shot a fat buffalo, which was
the first I had ever seen close at hand. —
This animal dies very hard, even when
mortally wounded; and an individual un-
acquainted with its nature— or, as the
mountaineers would term him, a "green-
horn" — though never so good a marksman,
would assuredly fail, using the hunters'
phrase, ** to throw him in his tracks." One
would suppose that a shot about the head
or central part of the body would prove fa-
tal — but nothing is more erroneous. To
kill a btill, the ball must either divide his
epifie, or enter his body behind the shoul-
der, a. few inches above the brisket — ^this
being the only point through which his
heart and lungs are accessible. And even
here, the vital part of all vitality, with a
ball directly through his heart, I was in-
formed by one of the hunters that he had
known an old bull run half a mile before
falling.

The buffalo killed was a fat cow; and
turning her upon her back, the trappers
proceeded to dress her in the real moun-
tain style. Parting the skin from head to
tail with a sharp knife, directly across the
belly, they peeled down the hide on either
side, and then taking from her the " hump
rib," "tender loin," " fleece," " tongue,"
and "boudins," they left the remainder,
with the exception of the skin, which was
thrown across one of the mules, to the
vigilant care of the wolves. The " bou-
din," a portion of the entrails, is consider-
eo'by the mountaineers the titbit of all.
Slightly browned over a fire, it is swallow-
ed yard after yard T^thout being separated,
and,*! may add, without resulting^ in the
least inconvenience to the gormand.

Through this section of country I ob-
seifed innumerable buffalo paths, running
from the bluffs to the river, and crossing
each other in e\ery direction. These
paths present a striking appearance to one
unused to the sight, being more than a foot
in width, some three or four inches in
depth, and as smooth and eveft as if cut
artificially..

But to Huntly and myself, the most
amusing and interesting sights of all we
saw on the route, were the towns of the
prairie-dog, which are to be found at dif-
ferent intervals along the whole course of
the sandy Platte, and through several of
which we passed. The first one we came
to, so astonished and interested us, thst
Huntly, Teddy and myself dismounted to
take a closer view, while the trappers, be-
ing of course familijir with such things,
steadily pursued their way.

The prairie-dog is above the size of a
large gray squirrel, somewhat longer than
a Guinea pig, of a brownish or sandy
hue, with a head somewhat resembling a
bull dog. Being of a social disposition,
they collect together in large bodies, and
build their towns on a gravelly plain, some
of them being miles in extent, and with
a population equalling the largest cities of
America, or even Europe. Their earthen
houses, which are from two to th^ee feet
in height, are made in the form of a cone.
They are entered by a hole in the top or
apex, which descends vertically some three
feet or more, and then takes an oblique
course and connects with others in every
direction. Their streets are laid out with
something approaching regularity, and they
evidently have a sort of police, and laws
to govern them, not unlike those of supe-
rior and more enliffhtened beings. In some
of the towns, a house larger than ordinary
occuple's a central position, which is ten-
anted by a sleek, fat dog, supposed to be
the presiding functionary of the place,
whose sole employment appears to be in
sunning himself outside his domicil, and
noting with patriarchal gravity the doings
of his inferiors.

The town which myself and companions
halted to examine, was one of the larger
class, and covered an area, to the best of
my judgment, of at least five hundred acres.
On our approach, a certain portion of the
little fellows ran to the mouth of their
holes, and squatting down commenced a
shrill barking, not unlike that made by a
toy-dog — whereupon the pups and smaller
sized animals betook themselves with the
utmost despatch to their burrows. A near-
' er approach drove the more daring under

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

55

cover, whence they took the liberty of
peeping out to examine us, and occaeion-
ally of uttering a shrill bark, as a gentle
hint that our company was any thing but
agreeable.

The food of these interesting little fel-
lows consists, for the most part, of prairie
grass and roots. They live a life of con-
stant alarm — being watched and pounced
'Upon continually by the wolf, the hawk, the
eagle, &c. They are very hospitable to
such animals as choose to come and live
peaceably among them — and the screech
owl and rattlesnake are their constant
guests; and it is not unusual, I was told,
to find all three burrowed together \m one
hole. They are some times eaten by the
Indian and mountaineer.

Spending an hour or more in examining
the town, we remounted our horses and
soon overtook the trappers, Teddy observ-
ing as we quitted the village:

" Faith, your honors, but thim is queer
bir-r-da now, isn't they] Och! be me moth-
er's hair! it's like they've bin down to St.
Louey and got the notion in their heads
and think they can baat the city, the spal-
peens! I'd like 'em to go^an sae Dublin,
now — maybe that 'Ud astonish 'em a wee
bit, and give 'em some new idees respict-
ing public idifices, jist. Ochone! Ireland's
the place to> taach 'em — the baastly ser-
pints of bir-r-de that they is."

The first natural object of curiosity I
beheld after crossing the South Pork of the
Platte, was the Solitary Tower, opposite
which we encamped on the margin of a
smali stream called Little Creek. This
tower, composed of sand and claj , resem-
bles a stone edifice, and being some seven
or eight hundred feet in height, can be
«een at a distance of fifteen or twenty
miles. To the distant beholder it presents
the appearance of some mighty structure
of feudal days; but a near view dispels the
illusion, and the spectator sees before him
only a rough, unseemly, but stupendous
pile — thus verifying the words of the poet,
that

" Distance lends enchantment to the view."

I was informed by Black George, that this
tower could be ascended, though at some

risk to the adventurer; and that he and
another tmpper had made the trial some
years before, and spent one cold winter's
night in one of its damp crevices — escap-
ing by this means a party of hostile savages
on his trail. I did not attempt the ascent
myself.

The following day, before noon, we
reached Chimney Rock, another natural
curiosity, which can be seen at a distance
of thirty miles, and which afar off resem-
bles a shot tower; but as you near it, it
gradually assumes the appearance of a
haystack, with a pole protruding from the
apex. It is about two hundred feet in
height, and is composed of much the same
substance as the Solitary Tower. The
rains are gradually wearing it away, and
in course of time it will cease to be an ob-
ject of curiosity. Black George informed
me that twenty years before, it was at least
.a hundred and fifty or two hundred feet
above its present elevation.

Pursuing our journey, we encamped in
the evening, on Scott's Bluffs, where we
found a good spring, and plenty of grass
for our animals. As wood was abundant
here, we started a fire, and while sitting
around discussing our meat and smoking
ing our pipes, the old trapper, who had not
been loquacious for several days, observed :

"Strangers, heyar's what can't look
round this spot without feelin badly — I'll
be dog-gone ef I can!"

" And why sol" I asked.

" Case one o' the almightiest best fellers
you ever seed, went under here. I knowed
him like a trump; and he was one o' them
chaps you could bear to talk about — real
mountain grit, with a hand that 'ud make
your fingers ache when he squeezed 'em,
and a fist that could knock a hole into yo«r
I upper story and let in the atmospheric, ef
he didn't like ye. Yes, he was one o' tfce
purtiest men that ever raised hair, throwed
buffler, trapped beaver, swallered *bou-
dins,' or I'm a liar. But all wouldn't do.
Death sot his trap and cotched him, and
left jest a few floatin sticks in the shape
o' bones to let us know he was a goner.
He died right down thar, 'bout six paces
from whar you're sett in."

"Tell ua the story.'*

66

THE PRAIRl£ FLOWER;

" It's puxty easy told. Him and a heap
o' other fellers bad bin up on a right amart
trade with the Injins, and was comin down
this way, goin to the States, when a lot o'
the cussed varmints jumped on to 'em and
stole every blessed thing they had, even to-
thar guns, powder, meat, and be — to
'cm. Well, Jimmy Scott — him as I's tell-
in about — he hadn't bin well for a week,
and gittin aground o' fodder fetched him
right over the coals. He kicked mighty
hard at fust; but findin it wasn't no use, he
gin in, and told them as was with him that
his time was up, and he would hev to do
the rest o' his trappin in another coij^ntry,
and that they'd best put out while they'd
got meat enough on thar bones to make
wolves foller 'em. They hated to leave
him like damation — ^but they had to do it;
and so they sot him up agin a rock and
vamosed. This was about a mile down on
tother side thar; and arter they'd gone,
Jimmy got up and paddled here, whar he laid
down and went a wolfin. Nobody ever
seed Jimmy Scott arterwards— but they
found his floatin sticks here, and gin this
the name o' Scott's Bluffs."

The next day, long before sundown, we
came in sight of Fort Laramie, where it
was the intention of Huntly and myself
to spend a few days, to refresh ourselves
and rest our animals, before attempting
the perilous journey of the mountains. On
our whole route, from the moment we
crossed Kansas river, we had not been
gladdened by the sight of a single white
man but ourselves; and consequently my
delight may be imagined, when I beheld
the walls of this celebrated fortress appear
in the distance, and felt that there at least
I could rest in safety.

Fort Laramie stands upon slightly ele-
vated ground, some two miles from the
Platte, and on the west bank of Laramie
Fork. It is a dirty and clumsy looking
edifice, built of adobes,* after the Mexican
style, with walls some two feet in thick-
ness and fifteen in height, in which are
planted posts to support the roof, the
whole being covered with a clay like sub-
stance. Through this wall are two gate-

Sun-bumed bricks.

ways, one at the north and the other at
the south, and the top is surmounted by a
wooden palisade. Over the main or front
entrance is a square tower, built also of
adobes; and at two angles, diagonally op-
posite each other, are large square bas-
tions, so arranged as to sweep the four
faces of the walls. The center of the
fort is an open square, quadrangular in
shape, along the sides of which are dwell-
ings, store-rooms^ stables, carpenter shops,
smith shops, offices, dz^c, all fronting npon
the inner area.

This fort belongs to the North Ameri-
can Fur Company, and is a general ren-
des^ous for traders, travellers, trappers, In-
dians, emigrants, &c., on their way to and
from the different trading posts, Oregon
and the United States. Here may be
found representatives of all nations and
colors, meeting on an equal footing, often
drinking and gambling together, many of
whom may be put down as implacable ene-
mies, and who, at another time and place,
would think nothing of cutting each others'
throats. Here occasionally may be seen
the Ponka, the Pawnee, the Crow, the
Blaokfoot, the Sioux and the Shoshone —
intermingled with the Spaniard, the
Frenchman, the Mexican, the Anglo-Sax-
on, the Dutchman and Negro. The trap-
per comes in at certain seasons loaded
with furs, and receives in exchange for
them powder, lead, tobacco,' whisky, &c.,
at the most exorbitant prices. Then gen-
erally follow a few days of dissipation — in
feasting, gambling, drunkenness, and some
times riot — when he finds all his hard earn-
ings gone, and he obliged to betake him-
self again to the mountains, to procure
a new supply, to be squandered in the same
reckless manner. ^

As we rode up to the fort, we noticed
several Indians standing outside, careless-
ly leaning against the mud-covered walls,
their persons bedecked with gew^-gaws,
and their faces bedaubed with paint, look-
ing surly and ferocious, evidently under
the excitement of liquor, and ready at any
moment, did not their cowardice and feara
restrain them, to take the life and scalp of
the first white man that should come in
their way. Standing among them, and

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

67

addressing one who from his superiority of
costume and equipments I judged to be a
chief, was a man of small stature, mostly
concealed under a large sarape and broad-
brimmed sombrero.

" H — !" exclaimed Black George, with
an indignant scowl: ** Ef thar aint one o'
them infernal Greasers, I wish I may be
dogged! Well, all I've got to say is,
he'd better not come foolin round this
child, or he'll find his hair lifted. Eh!
Ned)"

" Won't nothin short."

Passing through the gateway, we soon
had the satisfaction of seeing our cavalla-
da well disposed of; and entering the com-
mon reception room, took a friendly drink
together; after which, lighting our pipes,
(Huntly and myself had already adopted
this habit since leaving home,) we strolled
around the fortress to gratify our curiosity,
and while away the time till supper.

We found every thing in perfect order,
all the various compartments cleanly, and
the fort well garrisoned by a dozen hardy
fellows, each of whom had seen more or
less service, and the commander of whom
was at least a veteran in experience 'if
not in years.

The fort was not crowded by any means
— it not being the season of year for the
traders and trappers to be " in" — ^but still
the number of guests was quite respect-
able. There were a few families of emi-
grants on their way to Oregon and Cali-
fornia, and one or two home-sick ones on
their return to the United States, looking
pale, sickly and dejected. Some half a
dozen Indians, two or three Mexicans, as
many French voyageurs, four or five trap-
pers and hunters — all of whom were re-
cognized by our companions — a brace of
Yankee speculators, another of coureur
des bois,* together with the squaw-wives
and children of the garrison — completed,
as far as I could judge by a hasty glance,
the present occupants ot the station.

On the eastern side of the fort we found
an additional wall to the one I have de-
scribed, which connected with the main
one at both extremities, and enclosed

ground for stabling and carreU. A large
gateway opened into this from the south-
ern side, and a postern communicated with
it from the main enclosure. Here were
carrelled a few mules and cattle belonging
to the emigrants, while in the stables our
own horses were enjoying the best the
country afforded, for which of course we
expected to pay at least six prices. In
view of this important item, and their in-
capacity to meet it, the mountaineers had
taken care to put their mules on less ex-
pensive diet.

In the main enclosure or common, were
several heavy Pittsburgh wagons, some of
which were undergoing repairs at the
hands of the various mechanics en- ployed
about the station. As we drew ncnr them
after leaving the carrell, we neti v d that
several had left their employment .ind col-
lected in a group round someobje ' which
we could not make out from whore we
stood, while others had suspended iheir la-
bors and were gazing in the sum > direc-
tion, evidently on the point of joi d ig their
comrades. As by this time Huri y and I
were by ourselves, and our curium y being
excited, we eagerly sprang for\v
elbowing our way through the Th
ening crowd, to our surprise beh« •
shall proceed to describe in the tallowing
chapter.

rd, and

thick-

whatl

* Itinerant traders or pedlars

CHAPTER XII.

THE CURIOUS INDIAK PONY — ^ALARMING BU*
MOR—POMPOSITT— THE RENOWNED MOUN-
TAINEER — THE AMUSING MISTAKE — THE
MYSTERIOUS EQUESTRIENNE.

In the center of the ring stood an In-
dian pony of the largest class, and the
most beautiful animal I had ever peen. —
His color was a jet black, and so glossy
that it seemed to possess the power of re-
flection. Every point and limb was per-
fectly developed, with legs sleek and slim,
and a beautifully arched neck,, on which
was a head that bore the look of con-
scious superiority and pride. His trap-
pings were in perfect keeping with all the
rest. A small, delicately formed Spanish

58

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

saddle, designed for an equestrienne, sur-
mounted his backi underneath which was
a saddle blanket of wampum, most beauti-
fully wrought with fine, shiny beads of
all colors, into various birds and flowers,
and which being long and hanging low,
almost enveloped him in its ample folds.
Even his bridle, martingales, reins and
belly-girth, were worked in the same beau-
tiful manner, with beads of red, white and
blue. He was walking to and fro, snufi*
ing the air, pawing the ground, and occa-
sionally turning his gaze upon the crowd
with a proud look, as if conscious he was
an object both of curiosity and admira-
tion.

Various were the remarks of surprise
and delight which were passed upon him
by the excited spectators, some of whom
ventured to pat his sleek npck and rub his
head. At length one strapping fellow
caught him by the bridle, and placed his
hand upon the saddle as if with the inten-
tion of vaulting upon his back. But this,
according to the pony's notion, was carry-
ing familiarity a little too far; and with a
loud neigh* a rear and plunge, he tore him-
self away, nor would he afterwards permit
a hand to touch him, although he still re-
mained quietly in the ring.

" By heavens!" exclaimed Huntly, " saw
you ever the like, Frank! — saw you ever
any thing of the brute creation so beauti-
fuU"

" Never in. my life," I replied; "and I
assure you I am anxious to behold his ri-
der — for by the saddle it is a female."

'* True; I did not think of that; and if
she prove half as beautiful, i' faith I fear I
shall find myself in love with her."

*< Notwithstanding the lovely unknown
—eh! Charley 1"

" Come, come— ^no home thrusts now,"
answered Huntly, good humordly. " Do
not rub a. part already too tender."

" Wellyheyar's what's seed a good many
sights in my time, but I'll be dog-gone ef
ever I seed any thing o! the boss kind as
could hold a primin to this critter," said
the voice of Black. George, who had come
up behind us,.

« But who And'where is tho rider?'' I ask-
odj turning to him«.

" Don't know whar, but spect it's some
squaw or other — augh!"

" The rider is an Indian female, the
most perfect I ever beheld," rejoined a
stranger at my elbow, and whom I recog-
nized as one of the speculators previously
mentioned.

" Where is she] where is shel" cried
several voices, before I had time to respond
to my informant; and immediately the
stranger became the center of observation.

" She is now closeted with the command-
er of the garrison."

" Then perhaps she brings important
news'?" observed Huntly.

" Nothing more probable, sir," was the
reply. " There is a good deal of dissatis-
faction among the Indians, I understand."

"Indeed!" I replied. "And do you
think the route westward particularly dan-
gerous at this time]"

" I do; for rumors have reached ns that
the Crows, the Oglallahs, the Gros Ven-
tres, the Cheyennes, and one or two other
tribes, have vowed to take vengeance on
all the whites that fall in their way; and
it is said, I do not know with how much
truth, that the Oglallahs are out on the
Black Hill range and in the vicinity of
the Red Buttes, while the Crows are
skulking through the valley of the Sweet-
water."

" Why this is alarming, truly," I rejoin-
ed; " and certainly discouraging to those
who, like ourselves, are going merely, for
adventure and amusement."

" If adventure or amusement is your only
object in crossing the Rocky mountains,
take my advice, young men, and either
turn back or remain where you are."

" And yet why should they turn backl"
said a voice behind us. "All men ar
born. to die, and it's not probable any will
go before thar time. Courage and reso- .
lution ar every thing in this part of the ■ ^
world;" /

I turned round and beheld in the speak-,
er a young man of small stature and ro- .
bust frame, over whose clean shaven face,
time had not. drawn a wrinkle. His fea-.
tures were regular and prepossessing. Tha.
general expression of his intelligent coon-,
.ten^ce. ^a9 so rpservjed «i\d ^aobtni?.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

69

7

sive, that I readily felt surprise he should
have hazarded the remarks just quoted,
without first being called upon for hia|i
opinion. To all appearance he had not
seen over twenty-five winters, though in
reality he might have been much older, so
difficult was it to determine by his coun-
tenance. He had light hair — a keen,
restless, eagle-like gray eye — an ample
forehead — and a skin which, but for expo-
sure to all kinds of weather, had doubtless
been as fair and as soft as a lady's. Though
small in stature and small limbed, as I said
before, I noticed there was in all a beau-
tiful symmetry — a perfect adaptation of
one part to another. His limbs, though
slender, were plump and wiry, with mus-
cles of iron, and being something of a
connoiseur in such matters, I at once put
him down as an active, and, for his inches,
a powerful man. He was costumed in the
usual mountain style, and I judged had
just entered the fort, as I did not remem-
ber having seen him before.

As he spoke, I noticed that several of
the by-standers whispered to others, and
that Instantly all eyes became fixed upon
him, with an air of curiosity which I could
not account lor — there being nothing par-
ticularly remarkable in his appearance, as
I have shown by my description. The
stranger to whom he had addressed his re-,
marks, coolly examined him from, head to
foot, as one who felt a little nettled at his
interference, and wished to assure himself
of the exact importance that should be at-
tached to his words before he ventured a
reply. By a slight curl of the lip into
something like a sneer, I saw at once he
was not a judge of human nature, and had
underrated the new comer not a little.— r
He was himself a supercilious man, who
delighted in giving advice with a patron-
izing air, and consequently did not care to
have his wise counsel questioned by what
he evidently considered an interloper. He
therefore, after taking a complete and ra-
ther insolent survey of the other's person,
replied rather pompously:

" Why should they turn back, say you7
Because there is danger, great danger, to
them if they advance farther, as any one
who is. at all; apquainted with this part 6f

the country must be aware. If you had
travelled it as much as / have, sir, (there
was an important stress on the pronoun)
you would I fancy understand the value of
my advice; but young men (the speaker
was about thirty) on their first hunt are apt
to be very knowing and imprudent— and,
sir, I may add, without wishing to be per-
sonal, a little impudent also.''

Here the speaker straightened himself
up with an air of importance, and glanced
round upon the spectators, where he saw
many a quiet smile, which he was fain to
to. attribute to silent approvals of his
own lofty and conclusive argument. The
new comer also smiled slightly, as he quiet-
ly asked:

** May I inquire, sir, how much of the
country you've travelled]"

" Thousands of miles, young man — thou-
sands of miles, sir! Yes, sir! I have been
twice to Oregon, and once to California."

" Ift that alii"

« That all, sir! Umph! that, let me tell
you, is a good deal, sir, as you will find
when you have gone over the half of it."

** I. think I have already — at least that's
my impression," was the somewhat nettling
answer, which was rendered none the less
so to the speculator, by a. few half sup-
pressed titters and one hearty laugh from
the crowd.

" Indeed!' young man. Pray be so good
as to inform us where you have beeni"

" It would be much easier to tell you
whar I've not been," answered the other,
pleasantly. *^ But I may say, without fear
of contradiction, that I've seen nearly
every foot of ground from the Yellow
Stone to the Spanish Peaks — from the
Mississippi to the Pacific ocean."

'* Your name, strangerl" said the other,
a little crest fallen.

" I'm called Kit Cakson."

At the quiet mention of that renowned
name, better known on the mpunttiins and
over the broad West than that of any other
living being, and which was as familiar to
me as a household word, I involuntarily
gave a start of surprise, while three deaf-
ening cheers went up from the crowd,
mingled with boisterous shouts of laugh-
ter^ to the no small chagrii^ and mortifica-

30

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

tion of the pompous speculator, who mut-
tered something which to me sounded very
much like an oath.

Here, then, stood the famous Kit Carson!
a being I had long had a secret desire to
behold, biit whom I had always pictured to
myselt as huge, rough, brawny and fero-
cious. Nor could I bring myself to realize
that the person before me was that same
Incarnate devil in Indian fight I had heard
him represented, and who had killed and
scalped more sayages in the same number
of years than any two hunters west of the
old Mississippi.

When the laugh and tumult had some-
what subsided, the stranger, anxious to
escape ridicule, observed r

" Gentlemen, I acknowledge my verdan-
<^y, and feel myself indebted to you a treat.
Kit Carson, your hand! and how will you
have yours — mixed or clear?'

Another burst of merriment broke from
the crowd, with three hearty cheers for the
speculator and the prospect of a speedy
'* wet" all round. Suddenly the boisterous
tumult subsided as if by magic, and not a
man ventured a remark above a whisper,
while the eyes of each became fixed upon
some object on the opposite side of the
Bquare.

** Stand back ! stand back ! She comes !
^h^ comes!" I heard whispered on all sides
of me.

" Look, Frank — look!" said Huntly, in
a suppressed voice, clutching my arm ner-
vously.

I did look; and what I beheld I feel my-
self incompetent to describe and do the
subject justice. Before me, perfectly erect,
her tiny feet scarce seeming to touch
the ground she trod, was a being which
required no great stretch of imagination
to fancy just dropped from some celestial
sphere. She was a Uttle above medium in
stature, as straight as an arrow, and with
ti form as symmetrical and faultless as a
Venus. Twenty summers (I could not re-
alize she had ever seen a winter) had
moulded her features into what I may term
a classic beauty, as if chiselled from mar-
ble by the hand of a master. Her skin
vvas dark, but not more so than a Creole's,
and with nothing of the brownish or red-

dish hue of the native Indian. It was
beautifully clear too, and apparently of a
velvet-like softness. Her hair was a glos-
sy black, and her hazel eyes were large
and lustrous, fringed with long lashes, and
arched by fine, pencilled brows. Her pro-
file was straight from forehead to chin, and
her full face oval, lighted with a soul of
feeling, fire and intelligence. A well
formed mouth, guarded by two plump lips,
was adorned with a beautiful set of teeth,
partially displayed when she spoke or
smiled. A slightly acquiline nose gave
an air of decision to the \/hole counten-
ance, and rendered ijts otherwise almost
too effeminate expression, noble, lofty and
commanding.

Her costume was singular, and such as
could not fail to attract universal atten-
tion. A scarlet waistcoat concealed a
well developed bust, to which were attach-
/ed short sleeves and skirts — the latter com-
ing barely to the knees, something after
the fashion of the short frock worn by the
danseuse of the present day. These
skirts were showily embroidered with wam-
pum, and a wampum belt passed around
her waist, in which glittered a silver mount-
ed Spanish dirk. From the frock down-
wards, leggins and moccasins beautifully
wrought into various figures with beads,
enclosed the legs and feet. A tiara of
many colored feathers,. to which were at-
tached little bells that tinkled as she walk-
ed, surmounted the head; and a bracelet
of pearl on either well rounded arm, with
a necklace of the same material, comple-
ted her costume and ornaments.

With a proud carriage, and an unabash-
ed look from her dark, eloquent eye, she
advanced a few paces, glanced loftily
around upon the surprised and admiring
spectators, and then struck the palms of
her hands together in rapid succession.
In a moment her Indian pony came pran-
cing to her side. With a single bound she
vaulted into the saddle, and gr&cefully wa-
ving us a silent adieu, instantly vanished
through the open gateway. ^ .'

Rushing out of the fort, the excited
crowd barely caught one more glimpse of
her beautiful form, ere it became complete-
ly lost in the neighboring forest.

OR, ADVENTURES IN ^THE FAR WEST.

" Who is shel who can she be!" cried
a dozen persons at once.

"Prairie Flower, or Pm a nigger,"
shouted a well known voice in reply.

I turned and beheld ^Black George al-
ready working himself up to a great pitch
of excitement.

CHAPTER XIII.

PRAIRIE FLOWER AND HER ALARMING IN-
TELLIGENCE SUPERSTITION SPECULA-
TION — THE DILEMMA — KIT CARSON's SUG-
GESTION — THE DECISION — TEACHING TED-
DY THE MARCH THE SCOUTS THE

HALT AND PREPARATIONS FOR FIGHT.

The news brought by Prairie Flower
we learned in the course of the evening
was of the utmost importancie — being to
the effect that a large band of warriors,
composed chiefly oi Oglallahs and Chey-
ennes, had taken up their position in the vi-
cinity of Bitter Cottonwood — a place some
twenty-five miles distant — and that they
had vowed to cut off all the whites that
came that way, either going to or com-
ing from Oregon. The result of this in-
formation was to cause no little alarm
in the station, particularly among the
emigrants, who beiiig for the greater part
composed of women and children, were
consequently in no fit condition to brave
the assaults of a blood-thirsty body of
savages.

But who was Prairie Flower — the mys-
terious messenger that belonged to the
Indians, and yet c^me like a guardian jan-
gel to warn the whites of their dangerl
Who was she indeed! None coulU an-
swer. To all save the commander of the
garrison and Black George, (who now had
to rehearse his remarkable story a dozen
times, to gratify the curiosity of the ex-
cited inquirers, and who became a person-
age of no little importance in consequenca,)
she was an utter stranger; and for all any
one knew to the contrary, might have
dropped from the skies, a winged being
of a fairer realm. The commander of the
garrison, whom I shall term Captain Bal-

colm, had seen her once before, when she
came to warn him of the Sioux, who were
meditating a descent upon the fort, a sur-
prise and general massacre of its inmates,
and whose design by this timely notice ^
was thwarted; but regarding who she
was, how she gained her information, to
what tribe she belonged, or why she was
permitted to do these good acts and es-
cape — he could give no satisfactory reply.
On both occasions she had required a pri-
vate audience with him; and on the form-
er one had sent a request to him by an In-
dian half-breed, to meet her in a little
grove some hundred or so of yards distant
from the walls of the fortress.

At first he had refused to go unattend-
ed, for fear of some stratagem to take his
life or make him prisoner. The messen-
ger had gone back evidently dissatisfied, but
in a few minutes had returned with a skin
parchment, on which the same request, as
orally delivered, was written with a charred
stick, with the additional statement that
the writer was a female, and that the news
she had to convey was of great moment.

Ashamed to show further cowardice, he
had armed himself to t|ie teeth, and call-
ing his garrison round him, had notified
them to be in readiness to protect the fort
if besieged, and. avenge him on the half- *
breed, whom he left with them as hostage,
in case he returned not within two hours
— merely stating, by way of explanation j^
that he was going to hold a private con-
ference with a distinguished chief. The
result of this conference, as before stated,
had been to save the lives of all, and
defeat a well laid scheme of their ene-
mies. ^

Captain Balcolm furthermore stated, that
Prairie Flower, as she called herself, spoke
the English language well and fluently;
and that to his inquiry regarding herself
and tribe, she had answered with a smile,
that she must ever remain a mysterious
being to him and all of his race; that as
to tribe, she found herself a welcome
guest with all — came and went as she
chose without question or hindrance —
and that the language of each she under-
stood and spoke as readily as her mother
tongue.

62

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

" In conclusion," added the gallant cap-
tain, " I must say, that with all my expe-
rience, I have never seen so perfect, so
mysterious, and at the same time so in-
comprehensible a being as herself. Were
I superstitious, I should unquestionably be
tempted to doubt my senses, and believe
her a supernatural visiter; but I have
touched her, and know that she is flesh and
blood."

Many there were in the fort, however,
who had not so much faith in her identity
with an earthly habitant as the captain;
and I often heard confidential whispers
to the effect, that she was a being from
another realm, who had assumed the mor-
tal shape for the time, merely to bring
about some special design of the Great
Spirit; and that when said design should be
ac^mplished, she would never be seen
again by living mortal.

~ ' The Indian, it is well known to all who
know any thing of his history, is the most
superstitious creature on earth, and be-
lieves in the direct interference of spirits,
in bodily shape or otherwise, on any and
every momentous occasion; and as the
trapper or hunter is but little removed from
him by civilization, and not h, whit by
knowledge gained from letters, it is hardly
reasonable to suppose that he would im-
bibe ideas at war with those among whom
the most of his eventful life is spent. In
his earliest venture, he learns and adopts
the habits of his enemy, and in some cases
it would seem his very nature also; and the
result is, that he becomes at last neither
more nor less than what I may venture to
term a civilized savage. And here I may
remark, en pfissant, that your real, bona
fide mountaineer, rarely looks beyond the
lodge of some favorite tribe for a partner
to share his toils and rear his progeny;
and to the truth of this assertion, even the
garrison of Fort Laramie bore striking
evidence; for scarcely a wife among them,
but was a full-blooded squaw — nor a child,
but bore the cross of the red man and
white.

^ Various were the speculations that night
regarding Prairie Flower and her alarming
intelligence. The truthfulness of the lat-
ter none seemed to question, however

much they might the identity of the form-
ef with the race called mortal. That the
Indians were at Bitter Cottonwood in great
force, was therefore'a matter beyond dis-
pute; and the question was, what should
be done under the circumstances] To re-
main inactive, was only to act the part of
cowards, doom a portion of their own race
to certain destruction, augment the confi-
dence of the wily foe in his own resources, •
and consequently raise his hopes with the
flush of success, and add to his daring and
temerity. While, on the other hand, to
assail him in all his strength in his own
stronghold, with only a handful of men,
was like rushing unarmed into the lion's
den and courting speedy annihilation. In
this dilemnia what was to be done) Some-
thing, all admitted, must be done, and that
quickly — but what that something was,
now became a matter of serious delibera-
tion. Some proposed one thing, and some
another, and the discussion waxed warm,
and seemed likely to be protracted indef-
finitely, without resulting in the agree-
ment of any two to the proposal of any
other two.

At length Kit Carson, who had sat and
listened attentively without venturing a
remark, observed: ^

" Say what you will, comrades, thar is
after all but one way of settling this affair,

and that is to pitch into the varmints

and lift their hair. I've had a little expe-
rience in my time, if I am young in years,
and may safely say f've never knowed an
Indian yet as wasn't a coward, when as-
sailed in a vigorous manner by a deter-
mined pale-face. I've rode right amongr
thar lodges before now, and alone, single-
handed, raised a top-knot in full view of
fifty able bodied warriors, and their squaws
and pappooses. Now if I could do this
myself, it argues favorably for an attack
upon them in numbers.'* ^

" But what, then, do you proposel" I in-
quired.

" Why, sir, to arm and mount on good
horses a dozen or fifteen of us, dash into
them, and fight our way out."

As he said this, his brow wrinkled, his
eyes flashed, while his whole countenance
exhibited traces of that fiery, reckless dar-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

63

ing, which, together with its opposite,
coolness and great presence of mind, had
already rendered him so famous in the wil-
derness. I saw at once, that however mild
and quiet he might appear when not exci-
ted, it only needed an occasion like the
present to bring out his latent € nergies,
and make him a terrible foe to contend
with.

" Well," I rejoined, " although I came
merely for adventure, and beyond that
have no object in pursuing my way fur-
ther, yet I will readily volunteer my ser-
vices in a case of such emergency."

" And I," responded Huntly, quickly.

" Your hands, gentlemen!*' said Carson.
" I took you for men, and I see I was not
mistaken. Who neit!"

This rapid decision produced an electri-
cal effect upon all, and in a moment a do-
zen affirmative answers responded to the
challenge, while each, eager to get ahead
of his neighbor, now pressed around the
young, famous, and daring mountaineer.

In less than half an hour, all prelimina-
ries were settled, and sixteen hardy, able
bodied men were mustered into the ranks.
These included the four trappers who had
been our companions, together with Hunt-
ly, Teddy and myself.

It was then agreed that Kit Carson
should be our leader, and that on the fol-
lowing day we should mount ourselves on
the best horses that could be procured, and
taking a roundabout course, should ap-
proach the savages as near at possible
without being discovered, and await the
night to commence our attack. This mat-
ter settled, we retired to rest, some of us
for the last time before taking that final
sleep which knows no waking.

Rolling myself in a buffalo skin, I threw
myself upon the ground — but it was a
long time before I could close my eyes in
slumber. Thoughts of what another night
might bring forth, kept me awake. I might
be lying cold and dead upon the earth, a
prey to wild beasts — or, what was more
terrifying, be a living captive to a merce-
less foe, doomed to the awful tortures of
the stake. I thought too of home — of Li-
. lian — of the mysterious Prairie Flower —
and in the confusion of all these, fell

asleep, to find them strangely commin-
gled in my dreams.

The morning broke bright and beautiful;
and ere the sun had more than gilded the
loftiest peak of the Rocky Mountains, we
were all astir, preparing for oui* hazardous *
expedition. With the assistance of Captain
Balcolm, we succeeded in mustering six-
teen fine horses, including of course those
we had brought with us. We then armed
ourselves to the teeth, with rifles, pistols,
knives and tomahawks, and partaking of
a savory breakfast tendered us by the gal-
lant commander of the garrison, prepared
ourselves to sally forth.

Before we departed, however, I had a
task, which proved far more amusing
than desirable, in explaining to Teddy
the proper method of using his rifle and
pistols, and the manner in which he must
conduct himself in the forthcoming fight.
Having shown him how to load, prime
and sight the former weapon, I discharged
it at a target, and ordered him to imitate
my examole with all the despatch possible.

" Jabers!" shouted Teddy, in great glee,
scampering ofi" to the target to make an
examination of my shot.

In a moment he returned, bringing it
with him; and pointing triumphantly to a
bullet hole which he found in its center, he
said:

"Troth, your honor, but thim same
shooters is beauthiful things, now, for mur-
theringthe baastly blaggards of Injins, jist.
Here, now, ye's boured a howle right cin-
tral as asy as meself could do wid a gimlet,
and yees a standing there too all llie
whiles! Be me sowl too! an', now I re-
mimbers I didn't sae the ball at all, at all.
though I looked mighty sharp at it all the
time wid my two eyes. Howly murther!
but Amirica is a great counthry now, bar-
ring the tieving baasts of savages that's in
it."

Something like an hour was spent in
making Teddy familiar with the rifle, at
the end of which, I had the satisfaction of
finding him fit for duty. By this time all
save he and I were in their saddles; and
hastily mounting, we joined the cavalcade
— Carson in the van — and amid t])ree
hearty cheers from the regular garrison

64

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

(most of whom remained to protect the
station), and earnest prayers from all for
our safety and success in the coming con-
test — we quitted the fort.

Shaping our course along the bank of
the river, we advanced some ten or fifteen
miles over the regular Oregon route, when
we came to a place called Big Spring, which
takes its name from a large spring of wa-
ter gushing out at the base of a steep hill,
some quarter of a mile below the travelled
road. Here we halted and held a council
of war regarding our further progress,
whieh resulted in the decision to quit the
road at this point, and, by striking off to
the left, keeping Ourselves covered as much
as possible in the wood, endeavor to
gain a safe lodgement near the Indian
camp, and remain quiet till after nightfall,
when we must be guided wholly by cir-
cumstances. It was also thought prudent to
throw out a few scouts in advance, lest we
unknowingly should enter an ambuscade
and all be cut off. For this purpose Car-
son dismounted, and appointing me his
lieutenant, gave me private instructions re-
garding the route, and at what point, pro-
vided he had not joined us meantime, I was
to halt and await him. Then ordering two
Canadian-French voyageurs to dismount
also, he said a few words to them in a
jargon! did not understand, and in another
moment all three had separated, and were
buried in the surrounding wood at so many
different points of compass.

Leading the unridden horses of the
scouts, we slowly picked our way over
rough and sometimes dangerous ground,
keeping a sharp look out on every side for
fear of surprise, until the sun had reached
within an hour and a half of the horizon,
when we came to a beautiful little open
plat, covered with rich green grass and
blooming wild flowers, in the center of
which bubbled up a cool crystal spring,
forming a sparkling little rivulet, and the
whole of which was surrounded by a dense
thicket, not more than a hundred yards dis-
tant at any point. This beautiful snot to
me seemed the oasis of the desert; and be-
ing to the best of my judgement the one
described by Kit, where I was to await him,

and refreshing ourselves at the spring, we
watered our animals and allowed them to
graze around us, holding fast to the bridle
reins the while, prepared to re-mount at a
moment's notice or the first sign of dan-
ger.

Half an hour passed in this way, and
some of the mountaineers were becoming
impatient, when, to our great delight, we
beheld the welcome visage of Carson, as
he glided noiselessly into the open plat and
rejoined us. And, singular enough! al-
most at the same moment the two voya-
geurs made their appearance, at different
points, not one of the three having seen
either of the others since their parting from
us in the morning.

" Well, boys," said Carson, " thar'll have
to be some warm doings to a certainty;
and those of you who aint prepared to lose
your scalps, had better be backing out or
getting ready as soon as convenient."

"Have yOu seen the Indiansl" asked
Huntly.

" Well I have, and know Prairie Flower
didn't lie either. Thar ar three distinct
lodges of them — composed of Sioux, Chey-
ennes and Blackfeet — at least to the best of
my judgment, for I didn't like venturing too
close. They are camped in a little hollow
just below Bitter Cottonwood, not more
than three miles distant, and evidently
have no suspicion of our being near them."

" Well, what is now to be donel" I asked.

" Wait till I've had a talk with these
Canadians."

With this Kit called the scouts aside,
and after a few minutes' conversation, re-
turned to me and said:

"La Fanche and Grenois both report,
they've seen no Indian signs to alarm,
from which I argue, that thinking them-
selves secure where they ar, the savages
haven't taken thar usual precaution to send
out scouts. Regarding the plan of attack,
I think we'd better let our horses feed
here till dark, and then ride through the
forest for a couple of miles or so, cache
them, and take it afoot. I've got the plan
fixed in my head, and will tell you more
then. And now let's feed and smoke
while we've got time."
I accordingly ordered a halt. Dismounting - We had provided ourselves with a good

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

65

supply of jerk, and as none of us had eat-
en a morsel since leaving the fort, we pro-
ceeded to satisfy the demands of nature.
This done, we lighted our pipes and smoked
and talked till the shades of night warned
us to be again on the move. Guided by
Kit, we entered the thicket and advanced
slowly, cautiously and silently, for the bet-
ter part of an hour, when we came to a
dense cover of cottonwood.

" Halt and rope," said Kit, in a low tone.

In a moment each man was on the
ground, and engaged in attaching his horse
securely to a tree, though so dark was it
here that every thing had to be done by
the sense of touch.

** See that all your arms ar about you,
and ready, and then follow me, Indian
file," said Carson again; and in less than
three minutes, V^^ith stealthy tread, sixteen
determined men, one after another, glided
from the thicket into an open wood, like
so many specters stalking from the tombs
of the dead.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE evening's CAMP — OUR STEPS BETRA-
CED — OUR SECOND ADVANCE — TERRIBLE
AMBUSCADE — THE BLOODY CONTEST — KIT

•

CARSON'S WONDERFUL FEATS REIN-

TOTtPFMlTNT QP T HR F.NFlVfV-. ^TMMF.Niyr R

SLAUGHTER — MY HORSE KILLED— A FOOT
ENCOUNTER — DESPAIR — KIT's EFFORT TO
SAVE ME — UNCONSCIOUSNESS.

Some three-fourths of a mile brought
us to the brow of a hill, whence we could
overlook the stronghold of the enemy.^^
Immediately below us were several lodges
made of skins, around which we could
faintly perceive numerous dark figures mo-
ving to and fro, and evidently, as we thought,
preparing to turn in for the night. A lit-
tle beyond this was another encampment
or cluster of lodges, and still beyond an-
other — ^the three taken together number-
ing not less than a hundred and fifty or
two hundred warriors. And here ^stood we,
a little band of &vRteen m@n, about to as-

sail at the least calculation tei^ times our
own force. What rashness! what a fool-
hardy undertaking!

" Charles," whispered I to my friend,
" it is well that you and I are single men."

" Why so, Frank]"

" Because neither wife nor child will be
left to mourn our loss."

" That is true," answered he with a sigh.
"But do you then think our doom cer-
tain]"

" If we attack I do; or at least, that we
have ten chances against us to one in our
favor."

" It won't do," whispered Carson at this
moment, retreating a few paces, and mo-
tioning us to follow him. Then he added
in a low tone:

" We're too soon, and it will never do
to try it afoot. I must stick to my first
calculation. Our only chance of escape
from certain death must be by our horses.
We'll return to them and await the mid-
watch of night, '^hen we must dash
among them, raise all the hair we can, and
split for cover, or we shall be rubbed out
before we know it. I thought when I re-
connoitered, it would do better to steal in
among them and work silently — but I see
now our only hope is by storm."

Accordingly we retraced our «3teps, and
having gained the cover where our animals
were concealed, squatted down upon th©
earth. As it was yet too early for our
mpHitfltpH attack, we once more replenish-
ed our pipes, and enjoyed the refreshing
fragrance of some prime tobacco.

" I say. Kit," observed Black George,
"what d'ye think o'that thar Injin gal,
hey]" '

" Think she's a mysterious one."

" Ever seed her afore]"

"Never."

" I have — augh! Think she's a speret,
hey]"

" No! think she's a human."

** Well, I'll be dog-gone ef I do! I jest
believe she's got wings and ken fly — ef I
don't, call me a nigger and put me among
the cotton plants — augh!"

" Faith, thin, Misther Black George,
yees and mesilf is thinkifig much alike
now," interposed Teddy. *'I thought all

\

66

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

tbe whiles she was a bir-r-d, barring the
feathers which is all beads on her."

" Augh! — put out for a greenhorn now,"
returned the old trapper sarcastically.
"She's no bir-rer-rerd as you sez. She's
a angel, she is — ef she isn't, heyars what
don't know *fat cow from poor bull.' "

Talking of Prairie Flower, our present
design, together with various other matters,
we whiled away some too or three hours,
when Carson notified us it was time to be
on the move. Mounting once more our
horses, we set forward, and bearing to the
V left, descended immediately into the vallev
in which the foe was camped, instead of
keeping along the brow of the ridge as be-
fore. We were now compelled to use the
utmost caution, as the least sound might
betray us and thwart our plans.

At length we again, made a halt in full
view of the dark lodges, which were, faint-
ly perceptible in the dim light of the stars,
and one or two smouldering fires near the
center of thd encampment. All was still
as the grave, and, from any thing w6 could
discover to the contrary, as devoid of living
thing. Not a word, not even a whisper,
was heard from one of our party. Each sat
erect upon his horse, motionless as a
statue, his eyes fixed upon some object be-
fore him, and his mind it may be upon
death and the great hereafter. At least
so was mine; and thongh I rarely knew
fear, yet from some unaccountable cause I
now felt my heart die within me, na if
something dreadful were about to befall
me. Our pause Was but momentary; but
in that short space of time, methought I
lived a year.

" Forward!" whispered Carson, solemn-^
ly. " Each man. for himself, and God for
us all!"
^' Scarcely had the sentence passed his
lips, when, to our astonishment and dismay,
a/ tremendous volley rang on all sides of
us, and a shower 'of bullets and arrows
came whizzing through the air, accompa-
nied by yells that made my blood run cold;
while on every hand we beheld a legion
of dark figures suddenly spring from the
earth, their murderous knives and toma-
hawks faintly gleaming in the dim light,
as, flourishing them over their heads, and

/

yelling their appalling war-whoops, they
bore down upon us in overwhelming num-
bers. To add to our consternation, we
heard the thundering tramp of a body of
horse, in front and rear, rushing up to join
our enemies and hem us in completely.

Instead of surprising the enemy as ex
pected, we had found ourselves surprised
in turn, and drawn into a terrible ambus-
cade, from which there seemed no chance
of escape. Our design had doubtless been
betrayed-pbut by whom I had no time for
conjecture; for what between the yells of
savages — groans and curses from our own
little band — many of which had been
wounded and some seriously — the rearing
and plunging of the horses, and my desire
to do the best I could for myself and friends
— I had no time for speculation. Two of
the enemy's balls had passed through my
hat — one of them within an inch of my
skull — and another through the sleeves of
my frock, slightly grazing my arm; but
fortunately none had injured myself nor
horse.

" IMddle them — tear out thar hearts —
scalp and send them to h — l!" shouted
Carson, in a voice that rose distinctly
above the din of conflict; and wheeling
his charger, he dashed into the thickest
of the fray, with that utter disregard to
personal safety, which Napoleon once dis-
played at the far famed bridge of Lodi.

Determined to share the fate of Kit,

whatAvor it might ho, I oallod to Huntly

to join me, and rushed my horse along side
of his. 5Now it was that I had an oppor-
tunity 6{ witnessing that coolness and in-
trepidity, those almost superhuman re-
sources and exertions, which, together
with other matters, have rendered the
name of Kit Carson immortal.

Discharging his rifle and pistols at the
first he came to, Carson raised himself in
his stirrups, and swinging the former wea-
pon over his head, with as much apparent
ease as if a mere wisp, he brought it down
upon the skulls of the dusky horde around
him with fatal efi^ect. Not less than a do-
zen in the space of twice as many seconds
bit the dust beneath its weight, while his
horse, madly rearing and plunging, trod
down some four or five more. Still they

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

67

thickened around us, (for Huntly and my-
self were along side, imitating to the best
of our ability his noble example,) and still
that weapon, already reeking with blood,
was hurled upon them with the same as-
tonishing rapidity and the same wonderful
success.

On every band we were hemmed in, and
every man among us was fighting valiant-
ly for his own life and vengeance* There
was no opportunity for cowardice-— no
chance for flight — retreat was cut off — we
must fight or die. All seemed to under-
stand this, and used superhuman exertions
to overcome the foe, who fell before us as
gras^ before the scythe of the mower; but
alas for us! only to have their places sup-
plied by others equally as blood-thirsty and
equally as determined on our annihilation.

On all sides resounded hideous yells, and
curses, and groans, and shouts — mingled
with the reports of firearms, and the clash
of deadly weapons. Fear we knew not —
at least I judge by myself — for under the
intoxicating excitement of the time, I ex-
perienced no passion but uncontrollable
rage and a desire to vent it upon our swar-
thy foe. Success so far had been with us,
and numbers of the enemy had fallen to
rise no more, while all but two of our own
party were in their saddles, though some
of them badly wounded. Above the tu-
mult and din, I could now distinguish the
voices of Carson, the trappers and Teddy,
showing that each was doing his duty.

" Down, old paint face!" cried one.

" Take that, and keep them company as
has gone under afore ye!" shouted an-
other.

" H — I's full o' sich imps as you!" roared
a third.

" To the divil wid ye now, ye bloody
nagers ! for attacking honest, dacent white
paaples — ye murthering tieves of Sathan,
yees!" yelled the excited Irishman; as, in
all the glory of making a shelalah of his
rifle, he laid about him right worthily.

At this moment, when the foot began to
waver — when victory was almost ours — ^up
thundered some thirty horsemen to rein-
force our foes, revive their courage, and
render our case terribly desperate, if not
hopeless.

« At 'em, boys!" shouted Carson, appar-
ently not the least disheartened; and dri-
ving his spurs into his horse, dropping his
bridle rein upon the saddle bow, hurling
his already broken and useless rifle at the
heads of the nearest Indians, and drawing
his knife and tdmahawk, he charged upon
the new comers, seemingly with as much
confidence in his success as if backed by
a whole battalion.

No wonder Kit Carson was famous — for
be seemed a whole army of himself. A
bare glimpse of one of his feats astonish-
ed me, and for the moment almost made
me doubt my senses. Two powerful In-
dians, hard abreast, weapons in hand, and
well mounted, rushed lipon him at once,
and involuntarily I uttered a cry of horror,
for I thought him lost. But no! With
an intrepidity equalled only by his activi-
ty, a weapon in either hand, he rushed his
horse between the two, and dodging by
some unaccountable means the blows aim-
ed at his life, buried his knife in the breast
of one, and at the same moment his toma-
hawk in the brain of the other. One
frightful yell of rage and despair, and two «
riderless steeds went dashing on.

Side by side' with Huntly,! fought with
the desperation of a madman, and per-
formed feats which astonished even my-
self. Thrice did I find my bridle rein seiz-
ed by no less than three or four stalwart
savages, and thought that all was over;,
but as often, by ©om^ in^xplieable means,
my path was cleared, and not a scratch
upon my person.

For ten minutes did the carnage rage
thus, during which time no less than forty
of our foes had been killed or disabled,
and six of our'own gallant band had gono
from among the living. ' Still the savages
pressed around us, and I now found my
situation growing more and more despe-
rate. From over exertion, I began to feel
weak; and my gallant steed, having been
less fortunate than I, was already stagger-
ing under his wojinds. A few more pain-
ful efforts to bear down upon his foes, and
he reeled, dropped upon his knees, tried to
recover, failed, and at last rolled over upon
his side and expired.

As he went down, I leaped from his

68

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

back to the ground, and instantly found
myself surrounded by savages. Striking
right and left with renewed activity, I
shouted to Huntly, and in a momeat he
charged to my rescue, and by our combined
exertions we managed for a moment or
two to keep the foe at bay. But the
strength of both of us was failing rapidly,
and already I found myself bleeding from
numerous flesh wounds. A few stabs and
one musket shot killed the horse of my
friend, vwho was by this means brought to
the same desperate strait as myself.

"It is all over, Frank," he groaned, as a
blow on the head staggered him back
against me.

" Never say die," I shouted, as with my
remaining strength I sprang forward and
plunged my knife into the breast of the
aggressor, whose hatchet was already
raised for a final and' fatal stroke.

Partly recovering from my lunge, a
blow on the back of my neck brought me
^,, to my knees; and before I could regain my
feet, I saw another aimed at my head by
a powerful Indian, who was standing over
me. At this moment, when I thought my
time had come, and " God have mercy on
my soul!" was trembling on my lips. Kit
Carson, like an imbodied spirit of battle;
thundered past me on his powerful charger,
and bending forward in his saddle, with
a motion quick as lightning itself,
seized the scalp lock of my antagonist in
one hand, and with the uifier completely
severed his head from his body, which he
bore triumphantly away. I now sprang
to my feet, only to see my friend struck
down, and be felled senseless to the earth
myself.

CHAPTER XV.

CONSCIOUSNESS — PAINFUL SURMISES— i-THE
MYSTERIOUS OLD INDIAN — APPEARANCE
OP PRAIRIE FLOWER-*~HER. DEVOTION —
OUR SINGULAR CONVERSATION REGARD-
ING HERSELF AND TRIBE, THE FIGHT, MY
FRIENDS, AND MANY OTHER IMPORTANT
MATTERS.

When consciousness was again restored,
I found myself lying on a pallet of skins,

in a small, rude cabin, curiously construct-
ed of sticks, leaves, earth and a few hides
of buffalo.

The first sensation was one of painful
confusion. I felt much as one does on
awaking from a troubled dream, without
being able to recall a single event con-
nected with it, and yet feeling the effects
of all combined. I was aware that either
something terrible had happened, or I had
dreamed it; but what that something was,
I had not the remotest idea. The most I
could bring to mind, was a painful sensa-
tion of death. Perhaps I was deadi Hor-
rible thought! I tried to rise, but could
not — could not even lift my head from its
rude pillow. By great exertion I raised
one hand a little — ^but the effort exhausted
all my strength, and it fell back heavily,
causing me the most excruciating pain.

What did all this mean] Surely I was
not dead! — ^for dead people, I thought to
myself, feel no suffering. But where tvas
I, and how came I here, and what was my
ailment] And then — strange thought —
who was I] Laugh if you will, reader —
but I had actually forgotten my own name,
and for the moment could not recall a sin-
gle event of my existence. I had a con-
fused idea of having lived before — of hav-
ing been somebody — of having experien-
ced sensations both of pleasure and pain;
but beyond these, all was blank and dark
as a rayleas night.

Suddenly one remembrance after an-
other began to flash upon me. First my
youth — my school-boy days — my collegiate
course; and then, the train once fired,
years and events were passed with the ve-
locity of thought itself; and in one brief
moment, every thing, up to the time of my
fall in the fight, rose fresh in my memory.

But still the mystery was as dark as
ever, and my curiosity as much unsatisfied.
How had the battle gone] Were my
friends the victors] But 'no! that were
impossible, or I should not be here. Had
they all been killed or taken prisoners]
And Huntly — my friend! Great Heaven!
the very thought of him made me shudder
with dread. Alasi he was dead. I knew
it — I felt it. I had seen him fall, and of
course he could not have escaped. Poor>

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

69

< I

poor Charles Huntly — my bosom compan-
ion — friend of my happier days! The
very thought of his untimely fate — cut off
in the prime of life — ^made me groan with
anguish.

But where was I, and how came I here?
^ M^y had I been saved and not my friend]
But it might be that he was dead; while
I, by showing signs of existence, had been
brought hither and restored to life, only to
be the victim of some oblation of thanks-
giving to the imaginary deity who had
vouchsafed the victory to my foes. Ay,
this was the true, but horrible solution of
the mystery! My friends were dead — my
foes had triumphed — and for this (horrible
thought!) I was about to be the sacrifice
of rejoicing on a heathen shrine.
y Was I alone) I listened, but could hear
no sound indicating the presence of an-
other. Not satisfied with this, I turned
my head slightly, as much as my strength
would permit, and in the center of the
lodge, squatted on the ground, over a small
fire, with a long pipe in his mouth, I be-
held a little, old, dried up man, whom, but
for now and then a slight motion, I might
have taken for a heap of clay or a crum-
bled up Egyptian mummy — so much did
the skins worn around his body, and his
own shrivelled and livid flesh resemble
either.

Drawing in the smoke a couple of times,
and puffing it out to the right and left, he
arose and shuffled toward me. Curious to
learn the object of such a visit, I thought
it best to feign unconsciousness. Accord-
ingly shutting my eyes, but not so as to
prevent my seeing him, I lay and watched
his motions.

He was a miserable and loathsome look-
ing being, the very sight of whom sicken-
ed and disgusted me, particularly as I fan-
cied him my surgeon and jailor, who would
heal my wounds, only to pass me over to
the executioner. In height he could not
have exceeded five feet even in his palmiest
days, and this was now much reduced by
age and debility. He was thin and skin-
ny, and his small, puckered up visage bore
the complicated autograph of a century.
His head was bald, save a few white hairs
on the crown, where had once been his

scalp lock; his nose and chin almost met
over his toothless gums; and, to complete,
his trembling limbs and tottering frame
exfaibffted a striking resemblance to the
bony picture of death. Only one feature
about him gave evidence of his being more
than a mere walking automaton; and that
was his keen, eagle eye, whose luster, ap-
parently undimmed by years, still flashed
forth the unconsumed fires of what had
once been a mighty soul, either for good
or evil.

As he approached, he fastened his sharp
eyes upon me with such intensity, that in-
voluntarily I let mine drop to the ground,
lest he should detect the feint. When I
raised them again, I found him occupied
with some mysterious ceremony, probably
an incantation to lay the wrath or solicit
the aid of some imaginary spirit.

Taking his pipe from his mouth, he blew
a volume of smoke in a certain direction,
toward which he pointed the stem of his
pipe. This was done to the four cardinal
points of compass, and then a volume
was blown upward and another downward,
after which he bent over me and went
through a series of mysterious signs. —
Then taking one of my hands in his, he
felt my pulse, during which operation I
could perceive his face brighten with an
expression of internal satisfaction. Then
his bony fingers were pressed upon my
forehead and temples, and a single " Onh-
chi," which I interpreted from his manner
to mean " Good," escaped his livid lips.

Thinking longer deception unnecessary,
I opened wide my eyes and said:

" Who are you]"

" Cha-cha-chee-kee-hobah" was the an-
swer.

Then straightening himself as much as
age would permit, he placed his pipe again
in his mouth, and turning his face toward
the door of the hut, struck the palms of
his hands three times together, and u1;tered
in a cracked voice the single word:
"Leni!" ^

Wondering what all this meant, I turn-
ed my eyes in the same direction, and the
next moment, to my astonishment, beheld
the beautiful form of the mysterious Prai<(
rie Flower enter from without.

I

70

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

With a light, quick tread, her face flush-
<ed with animation and joy, she glided up
to the decrepid old Indian, and in a sil-
very voice, such as one might expect from
€0 lovely a creature, said a few words and
received a reply in a langua^ to me whol-
ly uniRtelligible. Then springing to me,
she kneeled at my side, and turning her
eyes upward, her sweet lips seemed mov-
ing to aa earnest prayer from a guileless
heart.

I no longer had fears for my safety —
for in such a presence and with such
aa «ct of devotion, I knew myself safe.
I was only afraid to speak or move, lest
I should wake to find it all a delusive
<iream.

But my desire to be assured of its re-
ality would not long let me remain silent,
and at last I said:

" Sweet being, tell me the meaning of
all I see."

" Friend, you must not talk," she replied
in good English; ** it will do you harm."

" Nevertheless, fair creature, you must
answer my cjuestion. My curiosity is
wonderfully excited, and silence will harm
me more than conversation."

She turned and addressed a few words
to the old man, who now approached her
side and gazed down upon me with a mild
look. His reply was apparently satisfac-
tory; for looking full upon me again, she
said:

" You may be right, and I will answer.
You were badly wounded in the fight."

" I am aware of that."

"You were left upon the ground for
dead."

"Ha! indeed! But the battle—- who
wonl"

" Your friends were victorious."

"Surprising! What lucky chance of
fortune gave them the victoryl"

"A reinforcement." •

"Indeed! fromwherel"-

" Fort John."

This fort, now demolished, stood at the
time of which I write about a mile below
Fort Laramie, and was well garrisoned,
From a mistaken confiden<^e in our own
abilities to win the day, we had neglected
calling there for volunteers to augment

our numbers and render our success more

certain.

, " And what brou^t them to our aid so

opportunely'*" I inquired.

" Certain timely information."

" By whom conveyed)"

" A friend to your race."

" By the same messenger that brought
intelligence of the enemy to Fort Lar-
amiel"

" It matters not by whom. Let the re-
sult suffice."

" How shall I thank you, sweet Prairie
Flowerl"

" For what?"

" For all that you have done."

" I need no thanks."

" O say not thus."

" Then thank me by your silence."

" I will; and by my prayers for your
safety and happiness."

" Bless you!" she exclaimed, fervently.
" The only boon I would have asked, save
one."

" And what is that?"

" That you will not seek to know more
of me and my history than I may choose
to tell; and that whatever you may see and
hear that seems mysterious, you will reveal
to none without my permission."

" To please sweet Prairie Flower," I
answered, "I will strive not to be a meddler
nor a babbler; though she must bear in
mind, where so much interest is excited,
the task she has imposed is a hard one."

" Then by adhering to it, you will con-
fer upon her the deeper obligation."

" Yet I cannot forbear one question."

'< Weill"

" Is Prairie Flower not of my race?"

"The judgment of the queriest must
answer him."

"Will not your'

" Not now — perhaps never."

"I regret your decision, yet will not
press the point.. But to return to the bat-
tle."

"What would" you know?"

" How it was won — how I came to be
neglected — and why I- am here."

"A reinforcement charging suddenly
upon the enemy, alarmed and put him to
flighty ^ The victors pressed upon his rear,

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

71

aod left their killed and wounded upon thei " It was — a week ago last night."

gory field. Before they returned, a few
who beheld, but did not join the fight,
found you and another in whom life was
not yet extinct, and bore you both away."

"And — and — that other]" I gasped. —
" Was — was it — my friendl"

" None other."

" And he — he — is — alivel"

" Ay, and doing well."

"Thank God! thank God! A weight
of grief is lifted from my heart. But
where — O, tell me quickly — where is he
now)"

" Not far hence."

" And all is owing to youV

" Nay, I said not that."

" God bless you for an angel of mercy!
I must thank you — my heart is bursting
with gratitude!"

"Nay, spare your thanks to mortal! —
Thank God — not me — for I am only an
humble instrument in his hands."

" Mysterious being, who art thoul"

" Remember your promise and question
not."

*' But you seem more of Heaven than
earth."

"It is only seeming then. But I must
remind you that you have now talked full
long."

" Nay, but tell me where I ami"

" In the lodge of Cha-cha-chee-kee-ho-
bah, or Old-Man-of-the-Mountains."

" Is it he that stands beside youl"

" The same. He is * Great Medicine,'
and has cured you."

«? And how long have I been herel"

" Pour days."

" Good heavens! you astonish me! Sure-
ly not four days]"

" Prairie Flower would not tell . you
wrong," said my informant, with a re-
proachful look.

" I know it, sweet being. I will not
doubt you— and only intended to express
fiuirprise. Then I have been four days un-
conscious."

" Ay, a week. '^

" A week]" I. exclaimed, looking her
earnestly in the face : " A week, say
you] And was the battle fought %. week

** And pray in what part of the country
am I now]"

« On the Black Hills."

" Indeed! And how far from Fort Lar-
amie]"

" Not less than sixty miles."

" And how was I borne here]"

« On a litter."

" By whom]"

" My friends."

" White men or red]"

" The latter."

" And for what purpose]"

" To restore you to health."

"And what object could you or they
have in bestowing such kindness on stran-
gers]"

"To do good."

" For which of course you expect a re-
compense]"

Prairie Flower looked at me earnestly
a moment, with a sweet, sad, reproachful
look, and then said with a sigh:

" like the rest of the world, you mis^
construe our motives."

" Forgive me!" I exclaimed, almost pas-
sionately — for her appearance and words
touched my very soul: "Forgive me,
sweet being! I was wrong, I see. On
your part it was solely charity that prompt-
ed this noble act. But it is so rare that
even a good action is done in this world
without a selfish motive,that,in the thought-
lessness of the moment, I even imputed
the latter to you."

" That is why I suppose so few under-
stand us]" she said, sadly.

" You must be a very singular people,"
I rejoined, looking her full in the eye. —
" Will you not tell me the name of your
tribe]"

She shook her head.

" I told you before," she answered, " you
must not question me touching my history
or tribe. Let it suffice that we are known
as the Mysterious or Great Medicine Na-
tion; that to us all roads are free, and
with us all nations are at peace. We
war upon none and none upon us."

" And yet do you not excite others to
deeds you seem to.abhor]'^

«f What lomta you]" shf asked quickly,

f'

72

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

a flush of surprise giving a beautiful glow
to her noble features.

" Forgive me if I speak too plainly. —
But wias not your message to Fort Lara-
mie the cause of a bloody battle between
the whites and Indians at Bitter Cotton-
woodl"

" The immediate cause of warrior meet-
ing' warrior in the game of death, most
undoubtedly," she answered, with a proud
look and sparkling eyes. " But do you
not overlook the fact, that it was done to
save the innocent and defenceless! Were
not the Indians gathered there in mighty
force to prey upon the weak! and was it
not the duty of those who sought to do
right to warn the few against the many —
the unwary of their hidden foe? Could
Prairie Flower stand idly by and see de-
fenceless women and children drawn into
a fatal snare and made a bloody sacrifice
to a heartless enemyl Had the pale-face
so laid in wait for the red-man, Prairie
Flower, if in her power, had so warned
the latter. Prairie Flower did not call
the red-man there; she regretted to see
him there; but being there, she could do
no less than warn and put the pale-face
on his guard."

This was said with such a proud look
of conscious rectitude — an expression so
sublime, and an eloquence so pathetic —
that I could hardly realize I was gazing
upon and listening to an earthly habi-
tant. I felt ashamed of my ungallant and
unjust insinuation, and hastened to reply:

** Forgive me, sweet Prairie Flower, for
having again wronged you — of having
again done you injustice! But as before,
I overlooked the motive in the act. I will
strive not to offend again and wound your
sensitive feelings by doubting your gener-
ous intentions. Are there many more like
you, sweet Prairie Flower?"

" Our tribe numbers between sixty and
seventy souls."

" Is this your fixed abiding place ]^'

" Only for a time. Our home is every
where between the rising and the setting
Bun. We go wherever we think ourselves
the most beneficial in effecting good."

"Perhaps you tu-e Christian mission-
aries?"

" We believe in the holy religion of Je-
sus Christ, and endeavor to inculcate its
doctrines."

" Why then did this old man use mys-
terious signs?"

" He is of another race and generation,
was once a Great Medicine in his tribe,
and cannot divest himself of^ld habits."

" You seem rightly named the Myste-
rious Tribe; and of you in particular I
have heard before."

"Indeed! When and how?"

I proceeded to detail briefly the story of
the old trapper.

She mused a moment and replied:

" I remember such a person now, me-
thinks. He was found, as you say, with
life nearly extinct. By careful nursing
he was restbred to health. But he seem-
ed inquisitive, and I employed the ruse of
telling him his life was in danger to hurry
his departure, lest he might prove trouble-
some. I trust there was nothing wrong
in that. But conie, come. I have forgot-
ten my own caution, and talked too long
by far. You need repose and silence."

"But one thing more! My friend?"

" You shall see him soon — perhaps to-
morrow."

"O, no! say to-day!"

" I cannot. To-morrow is the earliest.
And so adieu! Seek reposefand forgetful-
ness in sleep."

With this she turned, and glided out of
the apartment in the same noiseless man-
ner she had entered it. The old man look-
ed at me a moment — shook his head and
trembling hands — turned — shuffled away
to his fire — and I was left alone to reflect
on what I had seen and heard and my pre-
sent condition.

CHAPTER XVl.

SICK-BED REFLECTIONS — GREAT MEDICINE —
REAPPEARANCE 0^ PRAIRIE FLOWER —

OUR CONVERSATION GRATITUDE MY

WOUNDS — ^HER SUDDEN EMBARRASSB^ENT
— ^DEPARTURE, ETC.

It is a painful thing to one who has
never known sickness, to be confined day

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

78

after day to his bed, racked with torture,
debarred even the liberty of enjoying for
a moment the bright sunshine and clear
air of heaven, unable perhaps to lift his
head from his pillow, and yet beholding
others, flushed with health and happiness,
coming and going as they please, and
seeming to prize lightly all which he most
covets. It is only on a bed of sickness
and pain, that we are taught to value as
we should that greatest of all blessings,
good health — a blessing without which all
others are robbed of their pleasures: for
what are fortune and friends and all their
concomitants, to one who is borne down
by a weight of bodily sufTeringl True,
these may in a measure minister to his
comforts — for without money and friends,
the sick bed is only a pallet of the most
abject misery — ^yet all the joys arising
therefrom in connection with health, are
lost to the invalid; and he lays, and sighs,
and groans, and envies the veriest stroll-
ing mendicant on earth the enjoyment of
his strength and liberty.

Such were my thoughts, as hour after
hour, from the disappearance of Prairie
Flower, I lay and mused upon all the events
of my chequered life, up to the present
time. Born to wealth, blessed with health,
kind friends and a college education, I
might have passed my whole life in luxu-
rious ease, but for the restless desire of
travel and adventure. Not a discomfort
had I ever known ere my departure from
the paternal roof; and when I remembered,
that now I was thousands of miles away,
in an Indian camp of the wilderness,
wounded nigh unto death, unable to rise
from my pallet, solely dependent upon
strangers of a savage race for my exist-
ence and the few favors I received, perhaps
rendered a cripple or an invalid for life,
and reflected on how much I had sacrificed
for this — my feelings may be better im-
agined than described.

To what extent I was wounded I knew
n9t — ^for I had neglected to question Prai-
rie Flower on the subject — and I was now
too weak to make the examination myself.
My head, one of my arms, and both of my
lower limbs were bandaged in a rude way.

Mid my weakness had doubtless been I

6

caused by excessive hemorrhage. From
the manner of Prairie Flower and the old
Indian, I was led to infer that the crisis of
danger had passed; but how long it would
take me to recover, I had no means of as-
certaining, nor whether I should be again
blessed with the use of my limbs. Per-
haps I might here be confined for months,
and then only regain my wonted strength
to find myself a cripple for life.

These thoughts pained and alarmed me,
and I looked eagerly for the return of
Prairie Flower, to gain the desired infor-
mation. But she came not; and through
sheer exhaustion, I was at last forced to
drop the subject, while I strove to resigm
myself to such fate as He, who had pre-
served my existence as it were by a mira-
cle, should, in his wise dispensation, sM
proper to decree.

Then my thoughts turned upon Prairi*
Flower. What mystery was shroudinf
this singular and angelic being, that she
feared to be questioned regarding her his-
tory and tribe? Was she of the Indian
race? I could not bcdieve it. She seem-
ed too fair and lovely, and without the
lineaments which distinguish this people
from those natipns entitled to tne name of
pale-face. Might she not be a missionary,
who — blessed with great self-denial and a
desire to render herself useful while on
earth, and yet too modest to avow it — had,
at a tender age, gone boldly among the
savages and labored zealously in her noble
calling, to enlighten their dark minds and
teach them the sacred truths of Christiani-
ty? She had admitted that all believed in
the doctrines preached by the Savior; and
though she had not openly acknowledged,
she certainly had not denied, my imputa-
tion regarding the calling of herself and
friends. This, then, was the best solution
of the mystery I could invent. But even
admitting this to be true — that she was i»
reality of the Anglo-American race, and a
pious instructor who found her enjoyments
in what to others would have been a source
of misery — still it was a matter of curious
research, how one of her age should have
become so familiar with the language and
habits of all the various tribes of the F&t
West-^and why, if she had friends, she had

T4

THE FRAIRIR FLOWER;

been permitted to venture among them
alone and at the risk of her life. View
the matter as 1 would, I found it ever
shrouded with a veil of mystery and ro-
mance, beyond which all my speculations
were unable to penetrate..

Thus I lay and pondered for several
hours, during which time I saw not a liv-
ing soul — the old Indian excepted — ^who,
having finished his pipe, sat doubled up on
the ground by his smouldering fire, as mo-
tionless and apparently as inanimate as so
much lead. Once, and only once, he raised
his head, peered curiously around him for
a moment, and then settled down into his
previons position. Fixing my gaze upon
him, and wondering what secrets of the
past and his own eventful life might per-
chance be locked in his aged breast, I at
last felt my eyes grow heavy — the old man
grew less and less distinct, and seemed to
nod and swim before my vision, sometimes
ftingle and sometimes double — and then
all became confused, and I went oSf into
a gentle sleep.

How long I slept I am unable to say;
but an acute sense of pain awoke me;
when, to my surprise, I found it already
dark, and the old man bending over me,
engaged in dressing my wounds, and ap-
plying a kind of whitish liniment of a
soothing and healing nature, prepared by
himself and kept on hand for such and
similar purposes.

Some half an hour was he occupied in
this proceeding, during which I suflfered
more or less pain from the removal of the
bandages, which having become dry and
stifiT, adhered rather too closely to the af-
fected parts.

Thinking it useless to question him, I
made no remark,* but passively suffered
him to do as he pleased — which he did,
without appearing to notice me any more
than if I were dead, and he performing the
last office of sepulture.

At length, the bandages being repla-
ced ^ and my condition rendered as com-
fortable as circumstances would permit,
he tendered me some light food and water
-t-both of which I partook sparingly — and
with the single word " Onh-chi," and a
ti^d of hi4 head, turned away and left

me to my meditations. In ten minutes I
was again asleep.

When I next awoke, the sun was stream-
ing through the open doorway and crevices
of the old cabin, and, to my surprise, I
found Prairie Flower again kneeling by
my side. Her eyes were turned upward
as before, and her lips moved, but not a
sound issued from them. She was evi-
dently making a silent appeal to Heaven
in my> behalf; and as I lay and gazed upon
her sweet, pla<jid countenance, and felt
that all this was for me, methought I had
never beheld a being so lovely; and she
seemed rather an immortal seraph, bent at
the Throne of Grace, than a mortal tenant
of this mundane sphere.

At length she arose, and with a charm-
ing smile upon her features, and in the
sweetest tone imaginable, said:

" And how fare you this morning, my
friend]"

"I feel much refreshed," I answered,
" by a night of calm repose — and my
strength is evidently improving."

" I am glad to hear it — for you have
been nigh unto death."

" I am aware of it, and know not how
to express to you my deep obligations for
my recovery."

" As I told you before, no thanks are
due me. I did but my duty, and my own
conscience has ^already rewarded me ten-
fold. Those who labor to eflfect all the
good they can, need no thanks expressed
in words — for words are superfluous."

" And yet' had I done for you what you
have done for me, would you not have
thanked mel"

" Doubtless I should."

" And will you not allow me the privi-
lege you would have claimed yourself! —
Would it have pleased you to find me un-
grateful!"

" I cannot say it would," she replied,
musingly; " for, like others, I am only
mortal; and perhaps vain — too vain— of
having what little I do appreciated. I
should not have such feelings, I am well
aware; but they are engrafted in my na-
ture, and I cannot help it."

" Then even oral thanks cannot be dis-
pleasing to eweet Prairie FlowerV^

,0R, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

76

"Understand me, friend! There is a
vast difference between expressing thanks
by word of mouth, and being ungrateful.
That you are not ungrateful, your look and
actions tell — ^therefore are words super-
fluous."

" Well, then, I will say no more — but
trust that time will give me an opportuni-
ty of proving by acts, what at best could
be but feebly spoken. I agree with you,
that words in a case like mine are of little
importance. They are in fact 'trifles
light as air,' and as often proceed from the
lips merely, as from the heart. But now
a word of myself. Tell me, fair being,
and do not fear to speak plainly, regarding
my present condition. Can I ever re-
cover?"

" Great Medicine has pronounced you
out of danger."

" Shall I ever regain the full use of all
my limbsl"
" I know nothing to the contrary."
" And my wounds — what are theyl"
" You were found with your head fright-
fully gashed, and your skull slightly frac-
tured. Your left arm was broken, and the
flesh around it badly bruised, apparently
by the tread of a horse. Various other
flesh wounds were found upon your per-
son — made, seemingly, by some sharp in-
strument — from which you bled proiusely.
These, together with loss of blood, pro-
duced a delirious fever, from which kind
Providence has restored you, as it were by
a miracle. For a week, life and death
contended equally as it seemed for the
victory. Many a time have I stood by
your side, and thought every breath you
drew your last. I can only compare your
critical condition to a person suspended
by a mere cord over a terrible abyss, with
a strain upon it so equal to its strength,
that another pound would divide it and
render death certain; and there hanging
seven days and nights, ere a safe footing
could be effected on. the solid earth above."
" You draw a fearful picture, Prairie
Flower. But my friendr--did he know of
thisl"

** Not fully. He knew you were badly
wounded— but we gave him all the hop©
^^ could, lest .with . bis own wounds tbe

excitement should prove fatal to bim also.
As it was, he was often delirious, and
raved of you, and accused himself of drag-
ging you hither and being the cause of
your misery, perhaps death. Had we in-
formed him you were dead, I do. not think
he would have survived an hour."

" God bless him for a noble fellow — a
true friend!" I cried, while tears of affec-
tion flooded my eyes.

As I spoke, I noticed the counienanca
of Prairie Flower become suddenly crim-
son, and then white as marble, while she
averted her head and seemed uncommonly
affected. What all this meant, I was at a
loss to conjecture. In fact I did not give
it much thought, for my mind was filled
with the image of Charles Huntly, and I
quickly added:

^ Is he not a noble friend, sweet Prairie
Flowerl"

** He is indeed!" she exclaimed, looking

at me earnestly a moment, as if to detect

a hidden meaning in my words, and then

dropping her eyes modestly to the ground.

" But his woundsl"

"Like yourself, he received two very
severe contusions on the head, which ren-
dered him senseless for several hours."
" And how is he nowV
" He has so far recovered that he leaves
his lodge, and occasionally takes a short
stroll."
" And has he not been to see me!"
" No! we would not permit him."
" And how did a refusal effect him V
" Quite seriously. But we told Itim that -
your life, in a great measure, depended on
your being kept perfectly quiet, and that
as soon as he could do so with safety, he
should be admitted to your presence. Ht
seemed to grieve very much, but uttered no .
complaints."

" But you must let me see him now, .
Prairie Flower!"

" I do not know," she answered: " li
will consult Great Medicine."

« But, Prairie Flower!*' I called, aa she •
turned away,
« Weill"

" Remember, I mw< see himl"
"But surely you would. not. eadanfft.
y^ life and hUr!'

76

THE PRAIRTE FLOWER;

" Certainly not. But do you think such
would he the effect of our meeting!"

'' I am unable to say, and that is why I
wish to consult Cha-cha-chee-kee-hobah
— or, as we often term him, Great Medi-
cine." , .

'* Go, then, and Heaven send I get a fa^
vorable answer." .

Prairie Flewer turned away, and ap-
proaching the Old-Man-of-the-Mountains,
held with him a short consultation. Then
returning to me, she said:

<< Great Medicine thinks it imprudent;
but if you insist on it, he says you may
meet; at the same time he bids me warn
you both to be cautious and not become
too much excited, or the worst of conse-
quences may follow."

" I will endeavor to be calm, and see no
cause why I should be more than ordinari-
ly excited."

" You perhaps overlook, my friend, that
a great change has taken place in the ap-
pearance of each of you since last you
met; and your system being in a feeble
state, a sight of your friend may affect you
more than you are now aware of. The
greatest change; howeveis is in yourself;
and I must prepare your friend to behold
in you a far different person than he be-
held on the night of the battle. I charge
you beforehand, to brace your nerves and
meet him calmly!"

Saying this, she turned and quitted the
hovel.

CHAPTER XVn.

nsiT ojp mr FRiBin>— his changed ap-

FEAKANCE — SINGULAR MANNER OF PRAI-
RIE FLOWER — ^HER ABRUPT DfiPARTURE —
H^R RESEBKBLANGE TO ANOTHER— -OUR
ftURMIBES REGARDING HER — MY FRIEND
IN LOVE, Etc.

HdUf an hour of the meet anxious sus-
penae followed th« dlsappearande of Prai-
Flower, during which, in spite of myself,
J Buffered the moet intense mental excite-
ment, and my haads shook Mke the quak-

ing aspen, and I felt both sick and faint.
At the end of the time mentioned^ Prairie
Flower appeared and announced that my
friend would shortly be with me.

'*But you seem agitated," she added,
with an expression of alarm.

** O, no — mere nothing, I assure you,'* I •
quickly replied, fearful she would alter her
arrangement and put off our meeting to
another. day. "My hand shakes a little
perhaps — but you see, Prairie Flower, I
am quite composed — quite collected, in-
deed."

She shook her head doubtingly, and
was about to reply, when Huntly made hit
appearance, and approached me with a
feeble step.

Heavens! what a change in sooth! A
wild exclamation of alarm and surprise
was already trembling on my lips, when,
remembering the injunction of Prairie
Flower, I, by a great effort, suppressed it.

Could this feeble, tottering form ap-
proaching me, indeed be the gay, dashing,
enthusiastic Charles Huntly, whom I had
known from. boy hoodl His face was pale
and thin — ^his lips bl«4)dles8 — his eyes had
lost much of their luster, and moved some-
what nervously in their sunken sockets^-
his cheek bones protruded, and his robust
figure was wonderfully emaciated^— while
the wonted expreseio^ of fire and soul in
his intelligent countenance, had given
place to sedateness and melancholly. To
complete, his head was rudely bandaged,
and his habiltiments exhibited marks of
the recent conflict. If such was his ap-
pearance, what, judging from the remarks
of Prairie Flower, must have been mine!
I shuddered at the thought.

As he came up, so tha^his eye could rest
upon me, he suddenly started back, with a
look of horror, threw up both hands and
exclaimed:

<' Merciful God! can this be Francis
Leightoni" and staggering to my side, he*
dropped down upon the ground and burst
into t^ars.

" Beware! beware!" cried Prairie Flow-
er earnestly, her features turning deadly
pale. " Remember, Charles Huntly — ^re-
member my warning! or you will do what
can never be updone, and all our efforle

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

77

to save yoa both will have been made in i

>}

vain.

" Charles,'* gtsped I: '^Charles-^untly
— my friend'— compose youraelf, or you will
destroy ua bothf**

"Oh, Frank, Frank!'* he rgoined some-
what wildly, " I never thought to see you
thus, when in an evil moment I urged you
to leave home. Oh! why did I do it! For-.
give me, my friend — forgive me, for God's
sake! or I shall go distracted."

" For Heaven's sake, my friend, do not
blame yourself! I left home by my own
desire and fre9 will. You are not to blame,
any more than 1. Of course, we could not
foretell what fate had in store for us.
Rather thank God, dear Charles, that we
are both alive and likely to recover!"

" And you think, dear Frank, I am not
to blame)"

« Not in the least."

"God bless you for a generous soul!
Oh ! if you could but know what I have
suffered! Torturas of mind beyond the
strength of reason to bear."

" I have heard so from the lips of our
sweet benefactor."

" Ay, sweet benefactor, indeed ! God
bless you, lovely Prairie Flower !" Ke ad-
ded, passionately, suddenly turning his
eyes upon her. *' If you are not rewarded
in this world, I am sure you will be in the
next."

At the first sentence, the face of the
maiden flushed, and then changed quickly
to an ashpn hue, while her breaat heaved
with some powerful emotion, like to the bil-
lowy sea. She strove to reply, but words
failed her, and turning suddenly away, she
rushed from the lodge, leaving us alone.

"Angelic creature!" pursued Huntly,
gazing after her retreating form with an
expression of sincere admiration. '^A lily
too fair to bloom in a region so desolate as
this. But why did she leave us so abrupt-
ly, Frank!"

** I cannot say, unless it was her dislike
of praise."

" I could adore her, Frank, for her good-
ness. Where would we be now, think
you, but for her timely aid?"

"In another world, most probably," I
answered solemnly.

" Ay. truly in another world," rejoined
Huntly, with a sigh. "Ani^you, Frank, if
one may judge by your looks, are not far ^
from there now. Great God!" he contin-
ued, gazing steadily on me, while his eyes
became filled with tears, " what a change
— what a change! I cannot realize, even
now, that I am speaking to Francis Leigh -
ton. And this th^e work, of one short
week! Oh! how have I longed to see yoU,
Frank! How on my knees have I cried,
begged and implored to be permitted to see
you! But I was denied — unresistingly de-
nied — and now I am thankful for it; for
had I seen you in that unconscious state
described to me by Prairie Flower, I fear I
should have lost my reason forever, and
the sods of the valley would soon have
been green above my mortal remains."

This was said with an air and tone so
mournfully, touchlngly sad, that in spite of
myself I found my eyes swimming in
tears.

" Well," I answered, "let us forget the
past, and look forward with hope to the fu-
ture, and return to Him — who has thus far
watched over us with His all-seeing eye,
and raised us up friends where we least
expected them, in our moments of afllic-
tion — the spontaneous thanks of grateful
hearts!"

In this and like manner, we conversed
some half an hour without interruption.
As my friend had been struck down at the
same moment with myself, he was ot
course unable to give me any information
regarding what happened afterwards.
Whether any of our friends were killed or
not, we had no means of ascertaining, and
could only speculate upon the probability
of this thing or that. What had become
of Teddy] Had he survived? — and if so,
what must have been his feelings, when
he found we came not to his call, and ap-
peared not to his search!

This train of conversation again brought
us back to Prairie Flower, and each had
to rehearse the little he had gleaned, and
the much he had surmised, concerning her-
self* and tribe ; and in many points we
found our conjectures to correspond ex-
actly.

« By-the-by," I observed at length, " it

78

THE PEAIRIE FLOWER;

strikes me I hate seen some face like herd —
but where and when I cannot tell — per-
haps in my dreams."

" Indeed!'* replied Huntly quickly; "and
•o have I — but thought it might be fancy
merely — at least that you would think so
— and therefore kept it to myself."

" Who, then, is the person?"

" You have no ideal"

" None in the least."

" And if I tell you, and you see no like-
ness, you will not ridicule my fancy!"

"Ridicule, Charles'? Not certainly not.
But why such a question]"

"You will understand that full soon."

' Well, then, the ladyl"

" Have you forgotten the fair un-
known ]"

"Good heavens! how like!" I exclaimed, i her myself. But, Charley, you did not al-
You are right, my friend — there is indeed ' low her to perceive any symptoms of your

a wonderful likeness. Perhaps Butj passion?"

no! the idea is too chimerical." ' " Not that I am aware of. But why do

" Speak it, Frank — perhaps what!" • you ask]"

we fltartef], neither of ub the wiser for the

discussion."

<* Nothing more true," answered my
friend, musingly. I WDuld to Heaven I
could learn the history of Prairie Flower!
Can she be an Indian]"

»* I think not."

•' What a perfect creature ! and with a
name as beautiful as her own fair self. Do
you know, Frank,! "

"Well, speak out!"

" You will not ridicule me?"

" No."

" I am half in love."

" With whom?"

" Prairie Flower."

" Indeed ! Well, that is nothing strange
for you. I feel grateful enough to love

" I was about to add, perhaps they are
related — but that could not be."

"And why not?" asked Huntly. "Such
a thing is not impossible."

" Very true — but most highly improba-
ble, as you will admit. The beautiful un-
known we saw in New York — the beauti-
ful mysterious, if I may so term her, in the
Far West: the former, perhaps, a daughter
of fashion in the gay and polished circles
of civilization — ^the latter among barbari-
ans, a prominent member of a roving tribe
of savages."

"But you overlook that she could not be
bred among savages."

"And why not?"

" Because her English education, man-
ners and accomplishments, all belie such
a supposition. I admit with you, that the
suggestion advanced by yourself looks
highly improbable — at the same time, I
contend as before, it is not impossi-
ble."

"Well, at all events, Charles, you
must admit it is utterly useless to argue
a point founded solely upon speculation
on both sides. We have noteven the his-
tory of Prairie Flower to go upon, setting
aside entirely that of the other party, and
consequently must come out exactly where

" Because it would offend her."

" Do you think so?"

" I am sure of it."

" And wherefore, Frank?" asked my
friend, rather anxiously.

" Wherefore, Charley? Why, I believe
you are in love in earnest."

" Have 1 not admitted it?"

" Only partially."

" Then I acknowledge it fully."

" But how about the unknown?^'

" I am in love with her too."

" Ay, and with every pretty face you
meet. But surely you are not serious in
this matter?"

" I fear I am," sighed Huntly.

" But you cannot love either much,
when you acknowledge to loving both."

" Ydu forget the resemblance between
the two. I could love any being methinks,
in the absence of the unknown, who bore
her likeness."

"But, for. heaven's sake! Charley, do
not let Prairie Flower know of this! — for
it would only be to make her avoid us,
and perhaps result in unpleasant conse-
quences."

" And yet, Frank, at the risk of being
thought egotistical, I must own I have rea-
sons for thinking my passion returned."

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

^W

"Returned, say youl Why, are you
dreamingl"

" No, in my sober senses."

" And what reasons, I pray?"

" Her manner towards me whenever we
meet, and whenever I speak to her. Sure-
ly you must have noticed her embarrass-
ment and change of countenance when I
addressed her last, ere her hasty depar-
ture."

M I did — ^but attributed it, as I told you
then, to a dislike of flattery or ^ praise to
the face."

" I formed a different opinion."

" Why then did you ask me the cause
of her leaving so abruptly]"

" Merely to see if you suspicioned the
same as I— that, if so, my own fancies
might have the surer foundation. Often
when she thought herself unnoticed, have
I, by turning suddenly upon her, caught
her soft, dark eye fixed earnestly upon me,
with an expression of deep, quiet, melan-
cholly tenderness, which I could not ac-
count for, other than an affectionate regard
for myself; and the more so, that when
my eye caught hers, she ever turned her
gaze away, blushed, and seemed much con-
fused. It was this which first divided my
thoughts between herself and you, and
awakened in my breast a feeling of sym-
pathy and affection for her in return."

" You may be right," I answered, as I
recalled her strange manner of the day
previous, when I spoke to her of my friend
— and I proceeded to detail it to Huntly.
« But I am truly sorry it is so," I added, in
conclusion.

" Why so, Franki"

" Because it will only render her unhap-
py for life."

« What! if I "

« Well, say on I If you what, Charley?"

" I was going to add — a — marry her,"
he replied in some confusion.
, « Marry herl Are you mad, Huntly]"

« Only a little deranged." '

« Not a little either, if one may judge
by such a remark. Why, my friend, you
talk of marrying as if it were the most
trilling thing in the world. You cannot
be in earnest, surely! and it is a bad mat-
ter for a jest."

" I am not jestiog at all events," he re*
plied. " But why not marry her, if w«
both love? Is there any thing so remark-*
able in marriagel"

I looked at him earnestly, to detect if
possible -some sly curl of the lip, some lit-
tle sign which I could coastrue into a quii-
ical meaning; but no! the expression of
his countenance was uncommonly serious,
if any thing rather melancholy. He was
sincere beyond a doubt, and the very
thought kept me dumb with surprise.

" You do not answer," he said at length.
" Perhaps you do not believe in my sin*
cerityl"

" Ay, too truly I do," I rejoined; " and
the very knowledge made me speechless.
Why, my dear friend, what are you think-
ing of? You, the young, wealthy, aristo-
cratic Charles Huntly, prating seriously to
me of marriage, and that to a nameless
Indian girl of whose history you know no-
thing, and whose acquaintance you have
made within a week! What! can this be
the same wild, reckless school-mate of
mine, whose mind six months ago rarely
harbored an idea beyond uttering a jest or
playing a prank upon some unsuspecting
individual? Surely you are not in your
sober senses, Charley! or this is a land of
miracles indeed."

"I am not what I was," sighed my
friend, " though I believe not the less in
my senses for that. That I was a gay,
wild youth once, is no evidence I should
always remain one. To me there appears
nothing remarkable, that one whose life
has been a scene of folly, should become
changed by the near approach m death.
I have suffered too much within the past
week, both la body and mind, not to have
very serious reflections.' As regards Prai-
rie Flower, I acknowledge, as before, T
am totally ignorant of her history; that,
as you say, I have known her barely a
week; but I cannot forget that I am her
debtor, both for my own life and yours.
That she is a rare being, too good almost
to grace a world so cold and uncharitable
as this, none who have seen and conversed
with her as much as I, can doubt for a mo-
ment. Regarding marriage, I am very far
from thinking it a trifling affair— on the

1 1

T^HE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

eontrary, one of the most serious of a
roan's life. It is an event to make or mar
his fiappiness; and for that reason should
be considered with all due solemnity, and
every thing pertaining to it duly weighed,
that none may alterwards be found want-
ing. Had I proposed to you to unite my-
self with a lady of fine accomplishments
and fortune, would you have asked the
question if both loved — if she was one to
make me happy 1 Probably not; for her
wealth would prove the * silver veil,' to con-
ceal all her defects. Should a man take
the solemn vows of marriage to please
himself or friendsl Should he do so mere-
ly to make a display in public, and render
his heart in private the seat of misery?
Of what value is gold, if it add nothing to
a man's happiness? Riches are unstable,
and often, as the proverb has it, * take to
themselves wings and fty away.' And
then, to him who has made these his god
— ^who has wedded them and not the wo-
man — what is the result? A few days of
misery and an unhappy end. Do not con-
clude from this, my dear Frank, that I have
resolved to marry Prairie Flower; for un-
til it was suggested by your own remarks,
such a thought never entered my head; and
even now such a result is highly improba-
ble. I merely hinted at the possibility of
the thing, to ascertain what efibct it would
have upon you."

" Well, I am happy in knowing the mat-
ter is not so serious as I was at first led to
suppose. Take my word, Charley, it is
only a mere whim of the moment, which
will pass away with a return of health and
strength* When the body becomes dis-
eased, it is not uncommon for the mind to
be affected also; and though the idea you
have suggested may seem plausible now —
mark me! you will yet live to thiuk it pre-
posterous, and laugh at your present folly."
" Then, Prank, you think my mind un-
sound?"

. " Not in a healthy state, certainly — or,
widi your quick sense of perception, you
would have become aware ere this, that,
no matter how deep her love, Prairie Flow-
er is one to reject even Charles Hunt-
ly."

"Reject me, Frank, say you? — ^reject

me?" cried Huntly, quickly, with a look of
surprise.

***Ay, reject you — even you — the rich,
educated, and polished Charles Huntly."

" And why, Frank?'^

" First, because her proud, retiring na-
ture would rebel at the thought of an al-
liance with one whom the world might
consider her superior. Secondly, because
her sense of duty would not allow her to
depart from her tribe, to which she belongs
either by birth or adoption. Thirdly, and
conclusively, because she is one who has
evidently resolved to remain single through
life. She is a girl possessed of a remark-
able mind, which, once fixed upon a point,
ramains unchangeable forever. That she
loves you, I now believe; that you return
the passion, in a measure, you have ac-
knowledged; but that she would consent
to leave her tribe arid pledge herself to
you for life, I believe a thing impossible."

" You perhaps have reasons for thinking
thus?" observed Huntly, eyeing me sharply.

" Nothing more than what I have gath-
ered from noting her closely, during the
brief period of our acquaintance. I may
be wrong, but time will show. At ail
events, my friend, I warn you, if you feel
an increasing passion or affection for this
girl, to suppress it at once, and leave the
vicinity as soon us the health of both of
us will permit."

*' I will think of it, my dear friend ; and
in the mean time, do you watch Prairie
Flower closely — as I will myself — ^to learn
if your surmises be correct; and should a
convenient opportunity offer, fail not to
use it to find out the true state of her feel-
ings regarding myself. I But enough

— she comes."

As he spoke, Prairie Flower entered the
lodge to put an end to our conversation »
lest harm might be done me by too much
excitement. I now observed her narrow-
ly, and saw there was a constraint in her
manner, which she only the more exposed
by trying to conceal and appear perfectly
natural. She gently reminded Huntly it
was time for him to withdraw; and though
he strove hard to catch the soft glance of
her dark beaming eye, yet all his efforts
proved fruitless ; and pressing my hand*

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

il

with a hearty "God bless you!" and a deep,
earnest prayer for my speedy recovery, he
quitted the apartment.

Asking me one or two questions regard-
ing the effect produced upon me by my
friend's -visit, and finding instead of injury
it had resulted to my benefit, Prairie Flow-
er bade me seek instant repose in sleep;
and promising that Huntly should see me
again on the following day, she turned,
and in a musing mood, with her head drop-
ped upon her bosom, and slow steps, disap-
peared.

There was no mistaking it; Prairie
Flower was in love with my friend; and I
sighed at the thought, that the hour of her
friendship to us, might prove the data of
her own unhappiness.

CHAPTER XVni.

CONVALESCENCE THE MYSTERIOUS OE

GREAT MEDICINE TRIBE — ^THEJR MANNERS
—THEIR DAILY MODE OF WORSHIP — THEIR
MORNING, NOON AND EVENING SONGS —
A WEDDING ^A FUNERAL, ETC.

Time rolled on slowly, each day adding
something to my convalescence, and the
expiration of a month found me so far re-
covered as to venture on a short stroll in
the open air. During this long period of
confinement, (to me it seemed a year,)
Prairie Flower and Huntly visited me ev-
ery day, though rarely together; and to-
ward the last, my friend became an almost
constant companion.

Never shall I forget the emotions of gra-
titude and joy which I experienced on be-
holding once more the green leaves and
blades, the bright flowers and glorious sun-
shine, feeling again the soft, balmy breeze
of heaven upon my emaciated frame, and
hearing the artless songs of the forest warb-
lers. Earth, which for a time had seemed
cold and dreary, now appeared changed
to a heavenly paradise, and I could not
realize I had ever seen it look so en-
chantly beautiful before. In this I was
doubtless correct; for never before had I
been absent from it so long; and the con-

trast between the grim, rude wallfl of my
late abode, and all I now beheld, was
enough to have put in ecstacies a far less
excitable and enthusiastic individual than
myself.

The village of the Mysterious or Great
Medicine Tribe, I found to consist of some
fifteen or twenty lodges, aituated on the
side of the mountain so as to overlook a
beautiful^alley some quarter of a mile be-
low, through which flowed a murmuring
stream that formed one of the tributaries
of the Platte, The cabins, though on-
ly temporarily erected, were very comfort-
able, and placed so as to form a complete
circle, in the center of which stood the
Great Medicine lodge of Cha-cba-chee-kee-
hobah, where I had been confined, and by
which, as I now learned, I had been high-
ly honored, inasmuch as not a soul besides
its owner and Prairie Flower, unless by
special permit, was ever allowed to cross
its threshold. This then accounted for
my not having seen any of the tribe dur-
ing my confinement in bed. The Great
Medicine lodge, and one other, were dis-
tinguished from the rest by their whitish
appearance, done probably by a limish
composition found on the mountains. This
other alluded to, was the residence of Prai-
rie Flower, and two young, dark-skinned,
black-haired, bright-eyed, pretty-faced In-
dian girls, whose countenances and cos-
tumes bespoke intelligence and superiori-
ty. \:::=5-—

Among this tribe were some twenty fe-
males and as many children, and the bal-
ance males, all of whom were decently
clad, and clean and tidy in their appear-
ance. Save Prairie Flower, but very few
of them wore any kind of ornaments, and
their dark, clear skins were not in the least
bedaubed with paint. Most of them spoke
the English language, and some quite flu-
ently ; and I observed many an old well
thumbed back — generally a bible — lying
about their wigwams. In their intercourse
with myself and friend, they displayed a
dignified courtesy, and not one of all the
children did I ever observe to behave in
a rude or unbecoming manner.

They were, take them all in all, a re-
markable people, and rightly named the

88

THE PRAIRIE PLOWER;

Mysterious Trrbe ; and, as far as I could
judge, very zealous in the cause of Chris-
tianity. Three times a day did they col-
lect for public devotion to the Great Spi-
rit; and their ceremony, though simple, was
one of the most impressive I ever witness-
ed. It was in the following manner.

At Bunrise, noon and sunset, Prairie
Flower and her two Indian companions
would come forth from their lodge, array-
ed in neat and simple attire, each bearing
in her hand a kind of drum, or tamborine
without the bells, and approaching the
Great Medicine lodge, would arrange them-
selves in its front. Then bowing to the
east and west, the north and south, they
would beat the tambarines with their fin-
gers — whereupon the whole village, men,
women and children, would hastily quit
whatever occupation they might be ^t, and
assemble around them, their faces expres-
sive of the importance and solemnity
which they attached to the occasion^. —
The tambariAes would conUn^e to beat
until all were gathered together, when a
deep and impressive silence woulc) ensue,
during which each face would be turned
upward, as if to solicit the Great Guar-
dian of all to be with them in their devo-
tions. Then the maidens would strike out
into a clear, silvery soilrg, and at the end
of each stanza would be joined in the
chorus by all of both sexes, young and old,
during which each would kneel upon the
earth, and continue there until the com-
mencement of the next, when all would
again rise to their feet.

These songs, of which there were three,
were translated to me by Prairie Flower,
at my request, and I herewith give them —
if not in language, at least in spirit and
sentiment — commencing with the

MORNING SONG.

The day is up, the sun appears,

That sun of many thousand years,

And morning smiles through evening's tears:

Thanks! thanks! thanks!
To Thee who made the earth and sky,
The hosts that go revolving by,
And all that live and all that die —

God! God! God!

CHORUS.

Kneel! kneel! kneel!
O, bless lis, Spirit,

That doth inherit
The earth and air,
And every where!
And save ns, Thou,
To whom we bow,
All humbly now,
Our Great and Heavenly Father!

The day is up, and through our sleep

We've felt no visitations deep,

And nothing wherefore we should weep:

, Thanks! thanks! thanks!
Preserve us still throughout the day,
Teach us to seek the better way,
And let us never go astray —
God! God! God!

CHORUS.

Kneel! kneel! kneel!
O, bless us, Spirit,
That doth inherit
The earth and air,
And every where!
And save us. Thou,
To whom we bow,
All humbly now.
Our Great and Heavenly Father!

NOON-DAY SONG.

The day moves on and all goes well,
More blessings now than we can tell,
With gratitude our hearts do swell:

Thanks! thanks! thanks!
Bless and preserve us still, we pray,
With food and raiment line our way,
And keep us to the close of day —

God! God! God!

CHORtrs.

Kneel! kneel! kneel!
Father of heaven,
To thee be given
Unbounded praise,
Through endless days!
And like the sun.

In heaven above,
Pour on us now
\ Thy warmth of love!

And may our feet

Forever press,
The virtuous paths
Which thou doth bless!
To thee all praise. Lord, God, our Father!

The noon-day breezes now go by,

The forest gives a welcome sigh.

The munnuring streamlets sweet reply:

Thanks! thanks! thanks!
The birds carol, the insects sing,
And joy beams out in every thing,
For which all praise to Thee we bring —

God! God! God!

CHORUS.

Kneel! kneel! kneel!
Father of Heaven,

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

8S

[ To thee be given

Unbounded praise,
Through endless days!
And like the eun,

In heaven above,
Pour on us now

Thy warmth of love!
And may our feet

Forever press,
The xirtuous paths

Which Thou doth bless?
To thee all praise, Lord, God, our Father!

i

EVENING SONG.

The day is dying, wood and wold
Are growing dim, as we behold,
And night will soon us all enfold:

Thanks! thanks! thanks!
That Thou the day hath kept us through,
Taught each his duty right to do.
And made us all so happy too —

God! God! God!

CHORUS.

Kneel! kneel! kneel!
All heaven, and earth, and sea, and sky.
Are marked by His all-seeing eye.
Which will look deep into the night,
To note if each one doeth right.
And watch us in our dreams of sleep.
On all our thoughts and actions keep:
So may each thought, each deed we do,
Be one that will bear looking through!

And bless us. Thou,

To whom we bow,

All humbly now.
Most great Lord, God, Almighty!

The sun hath set in yonder west, .
The beasts and birds are seeking'rest,
All nature is in sable dressed:

Thanks! thanks! thanks!
Preserve us, Thou, till morning light
Doth lift the sable veil of night!
May holy angels guard us right.
Our sleep be sweet, our dreams be bright.
And not a thing our souls affright —

God! God! God!

CHORUS.

Kneel! kneel! kneel!
All heaven, and earth, and sea, and sky.
Are marked by His all-seeing eye.
Which will look deep into the night,
To note if each one doeth right,
And watch us in our dreams of sleep,
On all our thoughts and actions keep:
So may each thought, each deed we do^
Be one that will bear looking through!
And bless us, Thou,
To whom we bow,
All humbly now,
Most great Lord, God, Almighty!
It is impossible for me to convey the
sweet and plaintive melody which accom-

panied each fiong, and which, before I
knew a word that was uttered, produced
upon my mind, and that of my friend, the
most pleasing and solemn effect — particu-
larly as we noted that each was accompa-
nied with an earnestness and sincerity of
manner, such as I had rarely witnessed in
Christian churches within the borders of
civilization. At the end of each of these
songs, and while the assemblage remained
in the kneeling posture of the chorus, the
Gld-Man-of-the-Mountains would suddenly
make his appearance, and hooping his
arms before him and bowing, after the
Turkish fashion, would utter a few words
as a sort of benediction — whereupon all
would rise, and each depart quietly to his
lodge, or his previous occupation.

The devotional scenes just mentioned
were of every day occurrence, when no-
thing of importance had transpired to
elate the actors with joy or depress them
with grief — in either of which events, the
songs and manner of worship was changed
to suit the occasion.

With this people, a wedding or a funeral
was a very important afTViir; and as I so-
journed some two months or more among
them, ere my strength permitted me to de-
part, I had an opportunity of witnessing
both. As the former was the first in or-
der of occurrence, I shall proceed to de-
scribe it first.

The bride was an interesting Indian
maiden, some seventeen years of age, and
the groom a tall, athletic Indian, her se-
nior by at least five more. Both were be- *
comingly decked with wampum belts, fig-
ured moccasins, and various ornaments,
worn around the neck and arms, those of
the maiden being bare above the elbow,
and displaying her rich, dark skin to good
advantage. Around the head of each was
bound a wreath of ivy, diversified with a
few sprigs of cedar, emblematical, as I
was informed, of their love, which must
ever remain green and unfading.

The nuptial ceremony took place in the
lodge of the bride, and was as follows. On
the announcement that all was ready, a
deputation of maidens, consisting for the
most part of Prairie Flower and her com-
panions, surrounded the bride, and placing

84

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

their hands on her head, asked her several
questions pertaining to herself and lover,
the most important of which were, if she
truly loved him she was about to take for-
ever, and thought that marriage would in-
crease her happiness. Receiving replies
in the affirmative, they commenced singing
in a low, melodious tone, the subjoined

BRIDAL SONG.

Bloominor maiden,

Heavy laden
With new hopes, and joys, and fears —

Sad with gladness,

Glad with sadness,
Thou art going, young in years,

To another,

More than brother,

Father, mother,

Or aught other
Which among thy race appears.

We have bound thee,

As we found thee.
With unfading green wreathed thee —

Emblem fitting,

Unremitting
Must thy love forever be ;

That thou ever

Must endeavor

Not to sever.

Now, nor never,
Bonds of time, eternity. '

Now go, maiden.

Sweetly laden
With all blessings w^'ve in store —

Take him to thee.

Who did woo thee.
Deeper love him than before:

God be sending

His defending,

Joy portending.

Never ending
BjOssings on thee, evermore !

On the conclusion of this song, each of
the singers laid her right hand upon the
head of the bride, and commenced dancing
around her in a circle. This lasted some
ten minutes, during which time a deputa-
tion of Indian youths — or what in any
other triba would have been termed braves
— led forward the groom to within a few
feet of his intended, and commenced a
similar dance around him, accompanying
it with a song, the same in sentiment, if
not in language, as the one just given.
This dance over, the youths and maidens

fell back in two rows, facing each other,
while the groom and bride modestly ad-
vauced, unattended, and took hold of hands.
In this manner a!l quitted the lodge
for the open air, where the villagers
were drawn up to receive them, and who
immediately formed a dense circle around
them. Then, amid a deep silence, all
kneeled upon the earth, and rising, point-
ed their right fore-fingers to the sky, and
bowed to the four great points of com-
pass. Then all, save the bride and groom ^
united in the following

BRIDAL CHORUS.

Joined in heart, and joined in hand.

By great Heaven's wise decree.
Ye must ever so endeavor.
That ye ne'er may parted be —

Never! never!

So, forever.
May Almighty Power bless ye,

In your prime.

And through all time.
And on through all eternity !

As the chorus concluded, the ring open-
ed, and the Old-Man-of-the-Mountaini
made his apf)earance, bearing in one hand
a long staff, and in the other a horn cup
of smoking incense, which he waved to
and fro. Approaching the bride and
groom, he held it between them, and lay-
ing his staff on their heads, and bidding
them again join hands, he proceeded to
chant, in a feeble, cracked voice, the

CLOSING MARRIAGE STRAIN.

As this incense to Heaven,

So your vows here are given,
And written by angels above,

On the ponderous pages,

Of the great Book of Ages,
And stamped with His great seal of Love.

By earth and by air,

By water and fire.
By every thing under the sun —

By your own plighted faith.

To be true unto death.
In God's name I pronounce you twain one !

Waving his stick once more above their
heads, and uttering his usual word " Onh-
chi," Great Medicine retraced his steps to
his lodge. On his departure, the friends
of the newly married pair stepped forward
in the order of relation, and greeted both

r\

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

86

with a hearty shaking of hands, and invo-
cations of blessings from the Great Spirit.
Then followed a feast prepared for the oc-
casion, consisting principally of buffalo,
bear and deer meat, together with that of
Tarious wild fowls. This was eaten seat-
ed upon buffalo-skins, and was served to
the larger party by four waiters, two of both
lezes. After this came one or two more
songs, in which all joined, and a general
dance closed the festivities of the day.

The funeral which I witnessed, was that
of a young man greatly beloved by his
tribe. The day succeeding his death, was
the one appointed for the solemn ceremony
of sepulture. Meantime the body remain-
ed in the lodge where the vital spark had
been extinguished, and, locked up with it
frotp all intrusion, remained also the near
relatives of the deceased, fasting and em-
ploying their moments in prayer.

When the time for the funeral service
had arrived, four Indian youths, who had
been companions of the deceased, entered
the lodge, and wrapping the body in a buf-
falo-hide, bore it to that of Great Medi-
cine, and deposited it on the ground out-
side. Hither followed the relatives, their
heads bound with withered flowers and
leaves, emblematical of the decay of every
thing earthly, however fair and beauti-
ful. Forming a narrow circle round the
body, they kneeled upon the earth, and
placing their right hands upon the breast
of the departed, and their left upon their
hearts, uttered low and plaintive moans —
the signal that all was ready for the mourn-
ful rittf. Next appeared Prairie Flower,
with three other maidens, and approaching
the youths, all clasped hands and formed a
ring outside the circle of kneeling and
weeping relatives. Then they commenced
walking round the living and dead, and as
they passed the head of the latter, each
uttered a short prayer, that his noble spirit
might find eternal rest beyond the grave.
When this was concluded, Great Medicine
appeared, holding in his hand a drum, which
he beat rapidly a few times, whereupon
the remainder of the villagers came forth
from their lodges, and formed a third circle
outside of all. The second circle now fell
back to the largest, leaving a wide space

between it and the mourners, who still re-
mained kneeling as before. A short si-
lence followed, when the leader of the
corpse bearers stepped forward, and set
forth, in a clear, musical tone, the many
virtues of the dead, and pronounced an
eloquent eulogy over his remains.

On the conclusion of this, the speaker
took his place among the rest, when all^
broke forth in the following

FUNERAL DIRGE.

Gone! gone! gone!
From earth gone forever :
No more here we'll meet him,
No more here weUl greet him,
No more, nevermorer-
. All is o'er, evermore —
Forever! forever!
He's gone from the mortal —
He's passed Death's great portal —
And now will his spirit
Forever inherit,
In regions of bliss,
What it could not in this.
Passed from all sorrow,

Vexation and care.
Gone to the regions

That bright angels share,
In yon golden Heaven
His spirit will rest.
With joys the most holy
Forever be blessed.

Weep! weep! weep!
But weep not in sorrow :
Wi*h tears bend above him,
With tears show you love him —

But weep for relief.

Rather than grief—
For to-morrow— to-morrow —
Ye may join him in glory,
To tell the bright story,

Of earthly denials,

Losses and trials.

Of unwavering faith.

Of joy to meet death.
That your spirit in freedom

Forever might roam,
O'er the sweet vales of E^ien,

Your last lovely home —
To join there in singing.

As bright angels do,
The songs of Great Spirit,

Eternity through.

This was sung to a mournful tune, and

when the last strain had died away upon the

air, all simultaneously dropped upon their

I knees, and bowed their heads to the earth,

/^

86

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

in token of submission to the Divine will.
Then they rose to their feet, mourners and
all, and forming themselves into two long
lines, the four bearers proceeded to raise
the corpse slowly and in silence, and pre-
ceded by Great Medicine, and followed by
the maidens, the relatives and the rest,
two by two, all moved solemnly forward
to the last earthly resting place of the
dead, a rude grave scooped out in the side
of the mountain, some forty rods distant
from the village.

Depositing the body in the ground with
all due reverence, the bearers threw upon
it a handful of the loose earth, and moved
aside for the others to do the same. This
concluded, the villagers formed a large
ring around the open grave, when Great
Medicine stepped forward to the center
and chanted

THE LAST DIRGE.

Formed of dust

The spirit Bpurneth,
Back to dust

The body turneth —
But the spirit,

Passed death^s portal.
Doth become

A thing immortal.

Ye who mourn him.

Be unshaken,
That Who gave.

Again hath taken —
Thiat the dead,

Before ye lying.
Made a happy

Change in dying.

And ye dead.

Here rest in qtuet,
Till ye hear

The final fiat,
That in voice,

More loud than thunder,
Shall command

Your tomb a^sunder !
To earth we consign thee !
To God we resign thee I

' CHOBUS.

Sleep! sleep! sleep!
The birds shall carol o'er thy head,
. The stream shall murmur o'er its bed,
The breeze shall make the forest sigh,
And flowers above thee bloom and die-
But birds, and stream, and breeze, and flowers.
Shall joy no more thy sleeping hours.

To earth we consign thee !
To G<53 we resign thee !
Farewell !

The chorus was sung by all with im-
pressive solemnity, and on its conclusioc,
the four corpse bearers advanced, and with
wooden spades buried the dead forever
from the sight of the living. Two by
two, in the same order they had come
hither, the whole party returned to the
village, and the day was spent in fasting
I and devotional exercises.

The food of the Great Medicine NatioB
consisted, for the most part, of meat of
various wild animals, which they general-
ly killed with rifles, together with a few
fish, for which they angled in the streams.
Sometimes they planted and raised a small
patch of corn, as was the case in the pre-
sent instance; but their roving life, as a
general thing, led them to depend upon
such vegetable food as chanced in their '
way. Among them they owned some fif-
teen horaes, as many tame goats, which
they milked daily, and twice the number
of mules. They also owned a few traps,
and when in a beaver country, did not fail
using them to procure pelts; which;
together with buflTalo and bear skins,
they traded with the whites for such
extras as they considered useful. With
them all property, with the exception of
bodily raiment, was in common; and each
labored, not for himself alone, but for his
neighbor also. During the day their ani-
mals fed around the encampment, and in
the valley at the base of the mountain —
but at night all were driven in and carrel-
led, or yarded, within the village.

Never before had I seen a people appear
so wholly content with whatever Provi-
dence might give them, and so perfectly
happy among themselves; and the time I
spent with them, however singular th«
statement may seem to others, I must ac-
count one of the most pleasant periods of , .

^7 ^^•^ ^ ^_

Tr^c

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

87

CHAPTER XIX.

EE80LVE TO EE8UME OUE JOUBNET — AV'
HOUN CEMENT TO PRAIRIE FLOWER-'-HEB
SURPRISE AND REGRET— *D A IJGEES ENUME-
RATED— A CARELESS QUESTION — ABRUPT
ANSWER — ALARMING AGlTATIOlf OF PRAI-
RIE FLOWER — OUR JOURNEY P08P0NED

THREE DAYS HASTY DEPARTURE OF

PRAIRIE FLOWER.

It was about the beginning of Septem-
ber, that I found my wounds so far healed
and my strength so much recovered, as to
think seriously of taking my departure.
The air, too, on the mountains was becom-
ing cool and frosty; and as my friend and
T had decided on crossing to C^egon or
California before the snow-storms of win-
ter should entirely bar our progress, we
thought beat to.be on the mo?e as soon as
possible.

During my stay in the village, I had
seen and conversed more or less with Prai-
rie Flower every day, and noted with re-
gret that her features gradually grew more
and mote pale, her eye more languid and
less bright, her step less elastic and buoy-
ant, and that she moved slowly and heavi-
ly over the ground, with her head bent for-
ward in a mood of deep abstraction. The
cause of this I was at no loss to conjec-
ture, particularly as I saw a studied effort
on her part to avoid my friend on all occa-
sions, and that, when they did meet, she
ever exhibited toward him a coldness total-
ly foreign to her warm, frank, open, gener-
ous nature. Huntly noticed her seeming
aversion to him, with less philosophy than
I had expected to see him display. In fact
he became exceedingly troubled about it,
and often told me, with a sigh, that he
must have been mistaken-^that she did
not love him-~btttthat it was me on whom
her affections were placed. I contradicted
him only so far as to say, that she cared
no more for me than for him; but I did not
care to tell him the real cause of her cold-
ness — for I saw it would only serve to in-
flame his passion, and, from what I could
judge, render both the more unhappy.

That Prairie Flower loved my. friend,
i^d that too against her wiU^ was to lue as

clear as daylight; and the anguifh it muM
have cost her gentle heart to avoid and
appear cold and indifferent toward him, I
could better imagine than realize. Sever-
al times had I been tempted to broach to
her the subject, that I might learn from her
lips the true state of her heart; but the
slightest allusion to my friend, always pro-
duced such visible, painful embarrassment,
that I instantly abandoned the idea, and
adroitly changed the conversation to some-
thing as foreign as possible. Of one
thing I became satisfied; and that was,
that the sooner we took our departure, the
better it would be for all parties; for both
Prairie Flower and Huntly were becoming
touched with a melancholy that I feared
might lead to something more serious.

Accordingly, as soon as I fancied my
strength sufficient to encounter the fa-
tigue of a perilous journey, I announced
my intention to Huntly, and wrung from
him a reluctant consent to depart forth-
with. My next move was to see Prairie
Flower, and announce the same to her.
As chance would have it, I shortly discov-
ered her just outside the village, taking a
stroll by herself — a habit which had now
become with her of 'daily occurrence. —
Bidding my friend remain in the village, I
hastened after, and presently overtook her;
but so deep was she buried in meditation,
that my steps, close behind, failed to rouse
her from her revery.

" You seem lost in communion with your
own thoughts, sweet Prairie Flower," I
said, in a cheerful tone; " and were I bent
on surprising you, I might have done so to
good advantage."

She started, a slight flush suffused her
pale features, and turning her lovely coun-
tenance upon me, with an expression of
deep surprise, she rallied herself for a re-
ply.

''Really, I must crave pardon, Mr.
Leighton — but I was so engaged reflect-
ing on — a — ^various matters, that I failed
to catch the sound of your footsteps."

" I saw you were deeply abs^acted, and
would not have intruded on ,your privacy,
only that I have a matter of some little
moment to communicate."

"Indeed!" she rejoined, jturnlng deadly

88

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

pale and trembling nervously: "I trust
nothing has happened to— to— any one)"
" Give yourself no uneasiness, dear Prai-
rie Flower. I have only come to thank
you, and through you your friends, for the
kindness and unbounded hospitality of all
to myself and Huntly, and inform you that
we are on the point of taking our depar-
ture."

For a moment after I spoke, Prairie
Flower stood staring upon me with an ex-
pression of intense anguish, her breast
heaving tumultuously , and apparently with-
out the power to utter a syllable in reply.
At length, placing her hand to her throat,
as if she felt a choking sensation, she fair-
ly gasped forth:

« Not— not— going— surelyl"

« I fear we must, dear Prairie Flower,"
I answered sadly- for I felt touched to the
very soul at this unusual display of feeling
and sorrowful regret at our departure-
coming too from one to whom both Hunt-
ly and I were under such deep obligations
for the preservation of our lives, and the
many kindnesses we had received. "We
have intruded upon your hospitality too
long already," I continued, « and have at
^ast decided to depart immediately."

« But— but— your wounds]"

" Are nearly healed."

" And your — ^your — strengthl"

« Sufficient for the journey, I think."

" And whither go you]"

"Over the mountains— to Oregon, or
California, as the case may be."

« But have you considered the dangers!"

« Every thing."

« But the Indians may be in your path]"

« We must take our chance, then, as be-
fore. We have decided on taking a new
route,however,and consequently will avoid
all ambuscades."

« Still there are ten thousand dangers
on a new route. You may get lost, get
buried in the snows of the mountains, fall
over some precipice— or, escaping all these,
get captured by some roving tribe and put
to the tortures."

« There are many dangers, sweet Prai-
rie Flower, as you say; but had we feared
to encounter them, we should never have
been here."

>»

" But you have no horses.'

<* We can/ purchase them at Fort Lara-
mie, together with what other things we
may need. "

" You have^no companions!"

" We may find some there, also— if not,
we can venture alone."

" But — ^but . You will go, theni"

" I fear we must — ^loth as we are to part
from you and your people, with whom (I
wish not to flatter when I say it) some of
the happiest moments of my life have been
spent."

For some time Prairie Flower did not
reply, during which her eyes were cast
upon the ground, and a look of deep sorrow
settled over her lovely features, and her
bosom heaved with internal emotions. —
Raising her soft, dark eyes again to mine,
I was pained to behold them slightly dim-
med with tears, which she had striven in
vain to repress.

" I did not think," she said, with a deep
sigh, " that you would leave us so soon."

" Soon] dear Prairie Flower! God bless
your noble soul! Soon, say you] Why
have we not been here two long months
and more]"

" True," she answered, as I fancied a
little reproachfully, " I had forgotten that
the time must have seemed long to you."

" Nay, sweet Prairie Flower, I meant
not that. You are too sensitive — ^you mis-
construe me. I only meant, it was long
for utter strangers to share your hospitali-
ty, and trouble you with their presence."

« You would not trouble us if you staid
forever," she rejoined, with an air of such
sweet simplicity, that in spite of all my
assumed stoicism, I felt a tear trembling

in my eye.

Prairie Flower saw it, and quickly add-
ed, with an earnest, tender expression,
which could only be realized by being

seen:

« 0,sir! I fear I have wounded your feel-
ings!"

No wonder Huntly was in love, if he
had ever seen any thing like this — for with
all my philosophy and sober reasoning, I
felt myself in a fair .way of becoming hki

rival.
« God blesB you, Prairie Flower!** I «»-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

89

claimed from my very heart. " If Heaven
holds many like you, no wonder it is a para-
dise beyond mortal conception."

" O, do not compare me with those who
dwell in that bright realm," she quickly
rejoined; " for I at best am only a poor
sinful mortal."

« Then God help me!" I ejaculated, « if
you are considered a sinner."

"But your — your— friendl" she said,
hesitatingly. " Is — he — anxious to leave
usl"

She strove to assume an indifference as
she said this, but the effort to do so only
the more exposed her feelings, of which
becoming aware, she blushed deeply, and
on the conclusion hung her h«ad in real
embarrassment.

" Nj, dear Prairie Flower,'* I said, ap-
pearing not to notice her confusion; " my
friend is not anxious to leave; on the con-
trary, it was with much difficulty I could
convince. him of the necessity of our im-
mediate departure, and gain his consent to
set forth."

" And wherefore, do you think, is he loth
to 50?" she asked, carelessly turning her
head aside, and stooping to pick a beauti-
ful flower that was growing at her feet.

"Because sweet Prairie Flower goes
not with him," I answered, rather abrupt-
ly, curious to see what effect such infor-
mation would produce.

The next moment I regretted I had not
hinted, rather than spoken, this important
truth. As I p/onounced the sentence, the
hand of Prairie Flower, which already
clasped the stem of the flower in the act
of breaking it, became violently agitated
and relaxed its hold, while its owner, rais-
ing her face, as pale as death, staggered
back, and, but for my support, would have
fallen to the ground.

" Good Heavens! Prairie Flower,"! ex-
claimed, throwing an arm around her slen-
der waist, and feigning ignorance of the
f.ause of her agitation; " what has happen-
ed? Are you bit, or stung? Speak! quick!
tell me!"

" A-a-little weakness — a-a-snddeB weak-
ness — a-a-kind of faintness," she stam-
mered, endeavoring to recover her compo-
8«re, and evidently relieved that I had not

imputed her agitation to the right cause.
" I dont know that I ever was so effected
before," she continued, smiling faintly.
" But I think it will eoon pass away. I
feel much relieved now. There, there-—
thank you! that will do. Quite sudden,
was it not?"

" Quite, indeed!" I replied, adding men-
tally, " Poor, poor girl! how I pity thee! —
th> peace of mind has gone forever."

" But you spoke of leaving immediate-
ly," she answered. " What day have yon
set for your departure 1"

" This."

" Not to-day, surely!" she exclaimed, in
surprise.

" So had we determined."

" But you must not go to-day!"

"And why not]" ,

" O, it is not right to leave us so abrupt-^
ly; and besides, I have reaeons for wish-
ing you to delay three days at least."

« What reasons]"

" I eannot tell yon now; but remain an^
you shall know."

" Any thing to pleaee you, sweet Prai-
rie Flower."

" Then I have your promise]"

"You have."

" Thank you! thank you! — jou will not
regret it. But come, let us return to the
village, for I see the sun is three good
hours above the hills, and I have a long
journey before me."

" What! are you going to leave, thenf"

^I must! I have important business.
But ask me no questions, and do not de-
part till I return."

Half an hour later, Prairie Flower,
mounted on her beautiful Indian pony, as
I had first beheld her at Fort Laramie,
rode swiftly out of the village, unattended,
and disappeared down the mountain.

10

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

I

CHAPTER XX.

NIAIRIE FtOWEll STILL ABSBKl — RESOLVE
TO DEPART — ^BID OUR FRIENDS ADIEXT —
«ET FORWARD WITH OUR GUIDE— ^UlTEX-
PECTED MEETING WITH PRAIRIE FLOWER
— RETURN TO THE VILLAGE — A SPLENDID
PRESENT — OUR ROUTE CHANGED— SECOND
ADIEU — ^PRAIRIE FLOWER AS GUIDE— OUR
LAST PAINFUL PARTING WITH OUR SWEET
BENEFACTRESS.

Three days dragged oh wearily — ^for
without Prairie Flower, the Indian village
seemed gloomy and insipid both Vo Huntly
and myself — aad the fourth morning had
eome, and yet our fair benefactress had not
made her appearance. Where had she gone,
«nd wherefore did she not return? We ques-
tioned several of the villagers, but all shook
their heads and replied, some in good and
B9me in broken Ekigifsh^that they did not
1^10 w, that 8h« was frequently absent a
i|konth at a time, and that she rarely told on
leaving where she was going or when she
would return. Perhaps, then, her journey
was merely a ruse to avoid a farewell scene,
thinking we should depart in her absence;
and this I mentioned to Huntly, whose
surmises I found corresponded with mine.

"She has done it," he said, somewhat
bitterly, " to put a slight upon us, or rather
upon me, wiiose presence lately seems
most offensive to her; and for myself, I
am going to leave— you can do as you
lUEe."

In this I knew my friend was wrong al-
together, but did not contradict him — for
under the circumstances, I preferred he
should think as he did, rather than be made
n^hre of what, As I imagined, was the
^ue cause of her actions. I therefore re-
plied:

" Let us away, then, as soon as possi-

" Agreed.*'

. Upon this we hajitened to bid our Indian
iriends a long adieu, who seemed greatly
surprised and expressed astonishment that
we should leave so suddenly, without hav-
ing given them a previous notice. Hav*
lag gone the entire rounds, shook the dusky
hjinds of eaeh, young and oldr— Great Me-

dicine not excepted, who enlarged his
small, dark eyes to their utmost tension,
but merely grunted a farewell — and thank-
ed each and all heartily for their hospitality
and kindness to us as strangers, we prepar-
ed to set out at once for Fort Laramie. As
the direct route was unknown to us, we
inquired the way particularly, whereupon
a stout, rather good-looking, intelligent
Indian youth volunteered his services to
act as guide — a proposition which we read-
ily and gratefully accepted, with a promis-
ed reward when we should arrive safely at
our destination.

It was a bright, clear, frosty morning,
and the sun, just rising above the moun-
tains, poured down his radiant light, glad-
dening the forest and our hearts with his
presence; and this, together with the bra-
cing air, the freedom we fancied we were
about to experience after our long confine-
ment, in being once more upon our journey
in good health, produced feelings of buoy-
ancy and independence, such as we had
not known for many a long day.

Our guide had left us, as he said, to
make preparations for our journey, and we
were already becoming impatient at w^at
we considered his tardiness, when to our
surprise he reappeared, mounted on one
and leading two horses, which he eignifi-
cantlv intimated were at our service. This
was a kindness we could fully appreciate,
and of course felt no desire to chide him
for his delay. Thanking him in unmea-
sured terms for his happy foresight in thus
insuring us speed, and safety against fa-
tisfue, we vaulted into the saddles with as .
much agility as if we had never known a
mishap.

Waving a silent adieu to the villagers,
who' came forth ip a body to s6e us depart,
we turned our horses' heads down the hill,
and setting forward, soon reached the val- .
ley, crossed the stream, and burying our-,
selves in the forest, shut die Indian village
completely from our view.

* W«ll, Prank," exclaimed Huntly, gay- .
]y, as With a spirited gallop we buried
ourselves deeper and deeper in the forest
of the valley, " this seems Rke old times*- .
eh! my dear fellow V

** It does, indeed!" I replied in the faint.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

91

joyous manner, as I felt the warm blood of
active excitement again coursing through
all my veins.

Scarcely had the words passed my lips,
when our guide, who was riding in ad-
vance, suddenly drew rein, brought his
horse to a halt, and exclaimed:

" She comes!'*

Ere we had time to inquire who, we be-
held, much to our surprise, the beautiful
Prairie Flower dashing up the valley we
were descending, directly in our front. Of
course there was no means of avoiding
her, had we designed doing so, and ac-
cordingly we rode slowly forward to meet
her. As we advanced, I could perceive
that her pale features looked unusually
care-worn, and that her lips were Ncom-
' pressed, as by some inward struggle to ap-
pear entirely at her ease. As we met, she
said, half in jest and half in earnest, while
a slight Hush tinted her cheeks and made
her sweet coutenance look, lovely, beyoad
description:

" Good morning, my friends* Not run-
ning away, eurelyl"

" Why," I answered, in some confusion,
** we have bidden our friends of the village
a last' adieu, and are,, as you see, already
on our journey."

" Indeed! you surprise me! And could
you not have deferred your departure till
my return 1"

« Why^ the fact i»^we-^that is I^we
waited three days—the time mentioned by
you— ? and as we thought-^-*that-^as you had
not made your ai^pearance-^that-! — ^"

♦* I would not retura at all," she rejoin-
ed, completing the sentence which my em-
barrassraeat foieed me to leave uniiaished.
♦^ r truly, grieve, my friends," she coatiau'-
ed, with a look of sorrowful reproach,
<^ that, having knowa . me so long, you
should be led to ioubt my word. Bid I
ever deceive you^thM you thought I might
tgaini"

" Never! ' never!" cried both Hunt^y and
Tin the same.breai;h, while the conscience
of each accused him of having done
wrong. "But as the three days had ex-
pired," i added,' by way of justification,
** and as none oC the villagers knew whither
you h^d goD9, we feM:ed to tarry longer.

lest the coming storms of winter should
catch us on the mountains."

" Perhaps, then, you were right after
all," she said with a sigh. " True, I did
not return so soon as I expected, on ac-
coucit of an unforseen delay; and though I
did request you not to depart till I came
back, and though I fondly relied on seeing
you again, still I must admit that your pro-
mise has been faithfully kept, and that you
had a perfect right to go, and I none to
think you would stay to your own incon-.
venience."

This was said in a tone so sad, with
such modest simplicity, that, knowing the
true state of her heart, and remembering
that to her generous nature and untiring
watchfulness and care we both owed our
lives, every word sunk like burning lava
into my heart, and I felt condemned be-
yond the power of self-defence. For a
moment I knew not what nor how to re-
ply, while Prairie Flower dropped* her eyes
to the ground and seemed hurt to the
very soul.

" Forgive us, sweet Prairie Flower!" I
at length exclaimed, to the promptings of
my better nature. " Forgive us both, for
having done yoj^ wrong! I cannot exone-
rate myself, whatever my friend may do.
Ihad no right to doubt you — ^no right to
wound your feelings by leaving in a man-
ner so cold, so contrary to the dictates of
friendship and gratitude. But still, dear
Prairie Flower, if you kaew all my mo-
tives, you would, perhaps, blame me less."

She looked up at the last words, caught
the expression of my eye, and seemed to
cjompreheod my Hieaning at a glance; for
she colored deeply, turned aside her head, .
aad quickly answered:

'* I do not blame you. Let it pass. But
whither were you boundl"

" To Fort Laramie.^

"I trust^.then, I have paved you that
jonraey."

" Indeed t" I exclaimed in surprise, at a^
new idea suddenly flashed across my mind.
" You have bcea thei^, thent**'

« I have."

"And all or us!"

^^ But for you, I do not thiok I ishouid^ ;
hay^ gone at presea^t.^'

92

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

" God bless your noble, generou? soul!"
I cried, feeling more condemned than ever.
'* How fortunate that we have met you,
that we can at least make, the slight repa-
ration of apology and regret for having
misconstrued your motives! What must
have been your feelings, had you returned,
your heart bounding with delight at hav-
ing done us a service, and found we had
repaid you by leaving in your absence,
^ without even so much as thanks for your
kindness!"

" I should have felt hurt and grieved I
must own," she answered, quietly.

" It is my fault, Prairie Flower,'^ said
Huntly, riding up to her side.. " Blame
. me for all, and not my friend! To speak
plainly, I fancied my presence was hateful
' ) you, and that you had gone away, mere-
ly to put a slight upon me, by avoiding
even to the last, as you had avoided me all
along."

"You — fou think thisi" cried Prairie
Flower, turning upon him a look of an-
guish I shall never forget, and becoming
so agitated she could scarcely sit her
horse. " You think this 1 O, no, no, no!
you did not, could not, think I intended to
insult you!" and she buried her face in her
hands and shook violently.

" Great Heaven! what have I done!"
cried Huntly in alarm. " Look up, sweet
Prairie Flower — lock up and forgive me!
If I thought so then, I do not think so
now, and God pardon me for harboring
tueh a thought at all! But I could^not un-
derstand why you avoided me, unless it
was through dislike — in which case my
absence would be little likely to cause a
regret. I see my mistake now, and am-
MLtisfied that, whatever your motive might
have been, it was one which you at least
felt to be right and pure."

" Indeed itwaB!"retamed Prairie Flow-
er, raising her sweet, sad face, and her
Aoft, dark eyes to tils, and then modestly
dropping her gaze to the ground.

Huntly seemed about to reply, but paus-
ed and gazed silently upon Prairie Flower,
who, again raising her eyes, and meeting
a peculiar glance from him, blushed and
turned her head quickly away. It was
evident that both were getting embarrass-

ed, and I hastened to relieve them by say-
ing:

"And what news from Fort Laramie,
Prairie Plowerl What of our friendsl"

" I could learn nothing definite, save
that eight only, of the sixteen with whom
you went into battle, returned, and that the
rest, including yourselves^ were supposed
to have been killed or taken prisoners.
One of the former, I think they called him
an Irishman, made great lamentations over
you, declaring that the Indians or wild
beasts had destroyed you."

" Poor Teddy!" I sighed; "he did indeed
love us. But what became of himi"

" He left a few days after, with a party
of trappers."

" Then it may be a long time before we
meet again, if ever. But do yau think we
can procure a regular outfit at the fort?"

" What do you require 1"

" Two good liorses, a brace of rifles,
plenty of ammunition, and three or four
buffalo skins. By the way, this reminds
me that we left our possibles at the fort,
stuffed with clothes, which will now be of
valuable service."

" Come with me to the village," rejoin-
ed Prairie Flower, " and we will talk the
matter over."

" Why, as we are so far on the way, it
will only cause us unnecessary delay; be-
sides, we have spoken our farewells to all,
and turning back, when once started on a
journey, is said to give bad luck."

" Yet I have but one observation to
make to all your objections," returned
Prairie Flower, peremptorily; "and that
is, you mvst come with me."

" If you insist on it, certainly."

" I do."

On this we turned, without more ado,
and took our way back, wondering what
new mystery or surprise would greet us
next. The Indians appeared more rejoiced
than astonished at seeing os again, and
crowded around us, and shook our hands,
with as much apparent delight as if w«
had been absent a month.

" What is the utmost limit of your stay
with us, my friends?" inquiried Prairie
Flower.

"An hour is the extreme,** I replied.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

93

Upon this she turned and addressed a
few words to the young Indian who had
volunteered to act as our guide, and then
bidding us dismount and follow her, she
led the way into the lodge of Great Me-
dicine. Making some excuse, she went
out, and shortly returned, bringing with her
our rifles and plenty of powder and ball. -

" Now that you are' going," she said, " I
will restore you your arms, with a sincere
prayer that, with the aid of Heaven, they
may prove sufficient to preserve your lives
from your natural enemies, the savages and
wild beasts."

Here was another unexpected kindness,
and both Huntly and myself were profuse
in our thanks.. Prairie Flower then in-
quired the route we intended to take, and
being ans^vered that this would depend
much upon circumstances, she advised us
to cross the Black Hills some ten miles
south of our present location, and hold our
course westward over Laramie Plains, Me-
dicine Bow Mountains, and the North
Fork of Platte, to Brown's Hole on Green
River, where doubtless we should find many
trappers, and perhaps some of our old ac-
quaintances — giving as a reason for direct-
ing us thus, that there would be less dan-
ger from the Indians, who, notwithstand-
ing our signal victory at Bitter Cottonwood,
still continued in parties along the regular
Oregon route, killing the whites, whenever
they could do so without too much risk to ,'
themselves.

Thanking Prairie Flower for her advice,
I replied that, having reached Fort La-
ramie, it would be doubtful if we returned
this way — that in all probability we
should join some party of emigrants— or,
failing in this, take a middle course and
run our rfcks.

" But I see no necessity of your goinff
to Port Laramie," she rejoined.

" You forget, Prairie Flower, that we
have no horses, and it would be foolish at
least to attempt such a journey on foot.*'
To this she made no direct reply, but
went on suggesting various things for our
convenience and safety, with as much ap-
parent concern for our welfare, as if her
own life and fortunes were bound up in
ours.

At length the conversation slacked, and
thinking it a good opportunity, I declared
that our time had expired, and that we must
start forthwith.

*• Well, r will not detain you longer,"
replied Prairie Flower, leading the way out
of the cabin.

To our surprise, we found at the door
two beautiful steeds, (not the ones we had
just ridden,) richly' adorned with Spanish
saddles, bridles and apishamores,'*' with
two sacks of jerked meat hanging to the
horns, and four large bufi'alo skins strap-
ped on behind, while along side stood the
handsome pony of our fair benefactress,
each and all ready for a start.

" What mean these]" I inquired, turning
to Prairie Flower.

" Simply," she answered, with the ut-
most naivete, " that you must accept from
me these horses and trappings, without a
word, and allow me to be your guide to the
point where you will turn off to cross the
mountains."

" But, Prairie Flower "

" Not a word — not a single word — such
are the conditions."

" But we have money, and "

" Surely you would not insult me," she
interrupted, " by offering to jtayV^

I saw by her manner that to say more
would only be to offend, and seizing
her hand, I pressed it, with a hearty *'God
bless you!" w^hile my eyes, in spite of me,
became dimmed with tears. Huntly was
too deeply affected to speak at all, and
therefore only pressed her hapd in silence,
during which the features of Prairie Flow-
er grew very pale, and she was forced to
turn aside her head to conceal her emo-
tion. We now comprehended all — why
she had gone to Fort Laramie, and had in-
sisted on our return with her to the vil-
lage — and as we recalled her former kind-
ness and generosity, and our own base sus-
picions of her intention to slight us, the
result was to make both Huntly and my-
self very sad. She had her revenge, we
felt, and a noble one it was too.

Mounting our horses, we again bade a

* Saddle blankets of buffalo calf-skin, dressed
soft.

94

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

silent adieu to the Mysterious Tribe, and in
company with Prairie Flower, quitted the
village the second time, with more regret
than the first, and took our way southward,
in a^ direction almost opposite our previ-
ous one.

As we rode on, I noticed that our fair guide
became exceedingly abstracted, and when
'he fancied herself unobserved, that she
frequently sighed. Poor girl! she was la-
boringr to suppress feelings, which, like
the pent up fires of a volcano, were pre-
paring to rend the tenement which con-
fined them; and the very thought clouded
my path with melancholly. Huntly, too,
was abstracted and silent, so that little
was said on the way; and though every
thing above, around and beneath, seemed
conspiring to make us cheerful, yet our
thoughts only rendered our hearts the more
gloomy by contrast.

A ride of less than three hours brought
us to a spot of the mountaii! that seemed
of easy ascent, when Prairie Flower drew
in rein, and said with a sigh:

" Your route lies yonder. Keep a little
to the south of west, and avoid travelling
after dark, or you may plunge over some
precipice and be dashed to pieces.'*

Huntly now appeared too agitated to re-
ply, and it was with difficulty I could my-
self summon words to my aid.

" And so, dear Prairie Flower," I at
length articulated, " we are to part
herel"

" I fear we must."

" Shall we ever meet again?"

" God only knows," she answered, trem-
bling nervously, and dropping her eyes to
the ground.

" To attempt to express our gratitude
to you," I rejoined, "would be worse than
vain; words could not speak it; the heart
alone can, and that you cannot see,
only through external expressions. Of
one thing, fair being, rest assurred: that
in the secret chambers of the souls of
Francis Leighton and Charles Huntly, is
engraved a name that will never be eras-
ed — ^that of the noble and generous Prai-
rie Flower."

" Say no more— I — I — beg of you!" she
gasped, waving her hand, and then placing

it to her heart, as if to still its wild throb-
bings.

" Prairie Flower," said Huntly, in a
tremulous voice, " if I part without a word,
you may think roe ungrateful. It is not

so. Do not think so. I Could you

know this heart—"

"No more— no more!" cried the other.
** I see — I know — I understand all. Too

much — too much. Go! go! I G<^,

and God's blessing attend you both! I

a

She paused, and grasped ttc mane of
her beast to save herself from falling.

" Then farewell," rejoined Huntly, riding
up to her side and extending his hand.
" You will never be forgotten by me; and
should we meet not again — then — fare-
well — for-ever."

Prairie Flower clasped his hand, but her
own trembled violently, and her ^ips re-
fused a reply. The next moment, fearing
doubtless the effect of a longer trial of her
feelings and nerves, she turned her pony,
and signing me an adieu with her hand,
dashed rapidly away, and in two minutes
disappeared from our view in the deep for-
est.

Huntly sighed, but made no remark, and
silently and slowly we began our ascent
of the mountain.

That night we slept on the brow of the
Black Hills, at a point overlooking a large
extent of the Laramie Plains.

CHAPTER XXr.

IN SIGHT OF brown's HOLE — ^A DASH IK)WN
THS MOUNTAIN — ^APPEARANCE OF THE
PLACE — THE OLD TRAPPER—- DISAPPOINT-
MENT — EXORBITANT PRICES — A GAMBLING
QirARREL-—A MOUNTAINEER DUEL — HOR-
RIBLE RESULT.*

It was a beautiful morning, not far from
the middle of September, that, ascending
a hill at the base of which we had en-
camped the night previous, we overlooked
a charming green valley, completely shut
in by hills, through the very center of
which, like a long line of molten silver,
we beheld a bright stream taking its de-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

96

vious coarse. Not the least agreeable and
enchantiog; to us, was the sight of a few
shaaties, erected along the margin of the
ri?er, and the moving to and fro of sever-
al white human beings. And not the less
pleasant the sight, that we had been some
two weeks on a fatiguing joorney of more
than two hundred miles, over mountains,
plains, and rivers, without having seen a
solitary individual but ourselves.

The valley we now beheld was the point
of our present destination, a rendezvous
for the trappers, hunters and traders of
this part of the country, and known as
Brown's Hole. I have not described our
journey hither, after parting with Prairie
Flower, as but httle of interest to the gen-
eral reader occurred on the route, beyond
fatigue ot travel, an occasional escape
from a fatal plunge over some precipice,
and one violent storm on the Medicine
Bow, which proved far more disagreeable
than dangerous.

Here* then, we were at last, in full view
of what seemed to us a* paradise; and a
simultaneous shout of delight, not only
told our feelings, but that our lungs were
still in good order.

« Well, Frank," exclaimed Huntly, with
great animation, " we are now in a fair
way of coming in contact with somebody
besides Indians, and so let us down the
mountain with all the haste possible."

" Here goes, then, for a race," I cried;
and urging my noble animal forward, I
dashed down the declivity, to the immi-
nent danger of myself and horse, followed
by Huntly in the same reckless manner,
both shouting and wild with excitement

Reaching the base of the mountain, we
galloped swiftly over the valley, and brought
up at last in the center of the encamp-
ment, where curiosity soon surrounded us
with a medley of various nations and com-
plexions, all eager to learn who we were
ana what our business. Here we beheld
Indians of diflferent tribes, Spaniards,
Mexicans, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Cre-
oles, Canadians, together with Anglo-
Americans from all parts of ^he United
States. Some of these were trappers,
hunters, traders, coureur des hoisj and specu-
lators in general — all congregated here to

carry on the traffic of buying and telling
— this one to make money, and that one to
squander his hard earnings in gambling
and dissipation. Already bad the trade of
the season opened, although the greater
part of the trappers were not yet " in"
from the mountains with their fiirs, pelta
and robes.

Outside the shanties, of which there
were some half a dozen— belonging, the
principal one to the agent of the Hudson's
Bay Company, and the others to different
traders — were built fires, around which
groups of bronzed mountaineert were
squatted, lost to all consciousness of the
outer worlds in the exciting gtlmes of
" euchre," " poker," " seven up," dtc., &c.
In one place ^as meat in the process of
jerking, in another skins stretched over
hoops for drying, while here and there was
a rude block for graining, together with
various other implements used in the fur
trade.

All these I noted with a hasty glanee
as I drew in rein, and while the medlejf
crowd, before spoken of, was gathering
around ns. I looked keenly at each as he
came up, but failed to recognize a single
face, much to my disappointment, as I had
been rather sanguine of here finding some
of my old acquaintances.

" Whar from?" asked a toll, dark, ath-
letic mountaineer — eyeing us, as I funcied,
a little suspiciouely.

<* Over the mountains," I answered.

" Whar's your traps and beavers?"

" We have none."

<< Injins raise 'em?" |

" We never carriied any."

" Traders, hey?"

« No."

" What then?"

" Adventurers."

^ That's a new cailin, spose?"

" That is ours, at all events."

'* Fine bosses you got thar."

" Very good, I believe." ,

« Going to stop?"

"Think we shall."

** Well, ground yourselves, put your boss-
es to feed, and let's see how you look."

Upon this we dismounted, and while do-
ing so, Huntly observed:

96

THE PRAIRIR FLOWER;

" I say, friend, do you know most of the
trappersi"

" Know a heap — all I ever seed."

"Did you ever see one, then, called
Black Georgel"

" D'ye ever see your own mother, stran-
ger! Didn't I use to trap with him fifteen
year ago? — and hain't I fit him oat of many
a Injin snap? Ef that ain't knowin him,
jest tell me what is."

" Thkt is knowing him, certainly," re-
turned Huntly, smiling. " But have you
seen him of lateV

" Not sence two year come calf time.
B'lieve he went over to the States, or some
fich outlandish place or other."

" Then I have seen him since you."

" Whar d'ye leave him?" inquired the
other with interest.

** In an Indian fight, at Bitter Cotton-
wood."

" I'd swear it. When Injins is about
he's al'ays in, and a few at that, or I'm no
makes. But what beeome on him? Hope
he didn't go under!"

" That is more than I can say, as my
iriend here and I were carried off the field
for dead, and have not been able to get the
particulars of the battle since."

" He didn't die, I'll bet my life on that!
Ef he did, it's the fust time he ever knock-
ed under to sich varmints."

" I suppose, then, you have seen none
who were in the fightl"

" Never heard ont till now — so reckon
Ihavn't."

" We fondly anticipated meeting some
of them here."

** It's like you may yit; for ef they're
about in this part o' creation, they're sure
to come. But turn out them critters, for
they looks hungry, and make yourselves
at home here. And while I thinks on't,
ef you've got any bacca, I'll trouble ye
for a chaw."

As I had some of the desired article, I
proffered it, and received his warmest
thanks in return. We now set about re-
moving our saddles and other appendages,
and hobbling our horses, while the cro\vd,
having stared at us to their satisfaction,
and found nothing particularly remarkable
in our persons or equipments, gradually

sauntered away, until we were left entire
ly to ourselves. ' /

Brown's Hole, at certain seasons of t6e
year, becomes a place of considerable note,
and presents many of the features of a
western settlement on a holiday. It was
interesting to us to note the avariciousness
of the traders, and the careless indifference
of the trappers, in disposing of their com-
modities. Dropping in daily — sometimes
singly and sometimes in parties from two
to ten , loaded with pelts and furs, in value
from one hundred to several thousand dol-
lars — the latter would barter them for povr-
der, lead, tobacco, alcohol, coffee, and
whatever else they fancied, receiving each
article at the most exorbitant price, with-
out uttering a word of complaint. [ have
seen powder sold to the mountaineers at
the enormous sum of from three to four
dollars a pint; alcohol at double tliis price,
the same measure; ooflfee ditto; tobacco
two and three dollars per plug, and every
thing else in proportion. Money here was
out of the question, as much as if it had
never been in existence — furs, pelts and
robes beinof substituted therefor. Here I
witnessed gambling on every scale, from
the highest to the lowest — from thousands
to units — while 'every doubtful or mooted
point was sure to result in a bet before de-
cided. It was nothing uncommon to see
a trapper " come in" with three or four
mules, and furs to the amount of several
thousand dollars, and within a week from
his arrival, be without the value of a bau-
bee he could call his own — furs, mules, ri-
fle, every thing, sacrificed to his insatiable
love of gambling. The mountaineer over
his cups is often quarrelsome, and an an-
gry dispute is almost certain to be settled
in an honorable way (?)r— that is, rifles at
thirty yards — ^when one or the other (some-
times both) rarely fails to pay the forfeit
of his life. I had not been many days in
Brown's Hole, ere I witnessed a tragedy of
this kind, which even now, as I recall it,
makes my blood run cold with horror.

The actors in this bloody scene were
two trappers of the better class, of in-
telligent and respectable appearance, neith-
er of whom had seen over thirty years, and
who, as a general thing, were of very so-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

97 I

ber and quiet habits. They were from the
same part of the ootintry — had been boys
together — had started together upon their
adventurous and perilous occupation, and
were, moreover, sworn friends.

Some three days after our arrival, they
had made their appearance, well packed
with pelts and furs, which they immediate-
ly proceeded to dispose of to the traders.
As their trip had been an unusually profit-
able one, they of course felt much elated,
and taking a drink together, sat down to a
friendly game of cards, to while away their
leisure hours. More strict in their habits
than most of their associates', they rarely
gambled, and then only for diversion. On
the occasion alluded to, they at once be-
gan playing for liquor, and having at length
drank more than their wont, proceeded to
stake different articles. As the game pro-
gressed, they became more and more exci-
ted, until at last their stakes ran very high.
One was peculiarly fortunate, and of course
the luck of the other was exactly the re-
verse, which so mortified and vexed him,
that he finally staked all his hard earnings
and lost. On this his companion took an-
other drink, grew more and more merry at
his own success, which he attributed to his
superior skill in handling the cards, and
finally bantered the other to put up his
mules. No sooner said than done, and the
result was the same as before. He was
now, to use the phrase of some of the by-
standers, who had crowded around the two
to watch the game, " Han'somely cleaned
out." He had staked all, and lost all, and
was of course rendered not a little despe-
.i^ate by the circumstance,

" Why don*t you bet your body fixins?"
cried one.

Like a drowning man at a straw, he
caught at the idea, and the next moment
he and his companion were deciding the
ownership of his costume by a game of
euchre. As might have been supposed,
the result was against him, and he was at
last completely beggared.

Seizing the half emptied can of liqwor
by his side, he drained it at a draught, and
in a tone of frenzy cried:

" Somebody lend me somethin ! By !

1 must hav6 my fixins back."

" Luck's agin ye how," answered one.
" Better wait till another time."

"No! now — now! — by ! now!" he

fairly screamed. " I'll show Jim yet, that

Pm his master at cards any day he

pleases. Who'll lend me somethin, I
say]"

None seemed inclined, however, to as-
sist one so signally unfortunate; and hav-
ing waited a sufficient time, and finding
his appeal likely to prove fruitless, the dis-
appointed man rose, and in a great passion
swore he would leave " such outlandish
diggins, and the heathenish set that inha-
bit them."

" Whar'll ye go?" asked his companion,
in unusual glee.

" Whar no such scamps as you can

find me."

" But afore you leave, I spose you'll pay
your debts!" retorted the other.

« What debtsi"

" Didn't I jest win your body fixins?"

"Well, do you claim" them, too? I
thought as how you'd got enough without
them."

" Claim all my property wharever I can
find it," returned the other, more in jest
than earnest. " Of course, ef you're goin
to leave, so as I won't see you agin, I
can't afford to trufet."

" You're a villain!" cried the loser, turn-
ing fiercely upon hi^ friend: "A mean,
dirty, villainous thief, and a liar!"

" Come, come, Sam — them's hard words,"
replied the one called Jim, in a mood of
some displeasure.

" Well, they're true, you know it, and
you darn't resent 'em."

" By !" cried the other, his eyes

flashing fire, and his whole frame trembling
with a newly roused passion, " f dare and
will resent it, at any time and place you
please."

" The time's now, then, and the place
hereabouts."

" And what the way?"

" Rifles — thirty paces."

** Enough, by !"and both proceeded

to get their rifles and arrange themselves
upon the ground — a spot some forty yards
distant from the encampment — whither
they were followed by a large crowd, all

9^

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

\

eager to be witureeses of a not uncommon, " He'll never speak agin»" said ene

though what often proved a bloody scene,
as was the case in the present instance.

Selecting a level spot, the parties in
question placed themselves back to back,
and having examined their rifles, each
marched forward fifteen paces, and wheel-
ed face to his antagonist. Sam then^call-
ed out:

« All readyV

" Ready," was the reply.

" Somebody give the word, then," re-
turned the first speaker, and at the same
instant both rifles were brought to the faces
of the antagonists.

For a moment a breathless silence suc-
ceeded, which was broken by the distinct,
but ominous word,

"Fire!"

Scarcely was it uttered, when crack
went both rifles at once; and bounding up
from the earth, with a yell of pain, Sam
fell back a corpse, pierced through the
brain by the bullet of his friend. Jim was
unharmed, though the ball of the other
had passed through his hat and grazed the
top of his head. Dropping his rifle, with
a look of horror that haunts me still, he
darted forward, and was the first to reach
the side of the dead. Bending down, he
raised the body in his arms, and wiping the
blood from his face with its hands, called
out, in the most endearing and piteous
tones;

" Sam! Sam!-^look up! — speak to me!
— it's Jim — your friend. I did not go to
do it. I was mad, or drunk. Sam! Sam!
speak to me! — for Heaven's sake speak, if
only once, and say you forgive me! Sam,
why don't you speak] Oh! I shall go dis-
tracted! My brain seems on fire! You
know, dear Sam, I would not murder you —
you — my friend — my dearly loved friend —
the playmate of my childhood! Oh, speak!
speak! speak ! O God ! speak, Sam, if
only once! It was the cursed liquor that
did it. Oh speak! if only to curse me!
O God! O God! he don't answer me!"
cried the wretched man, turning an an-
guished, imploring look upon the specta-
tors, as if they could give him aid, and
then wildly straining the dead man to his
heart.

" Oh, no! do not say that!" shrieked the
duelist. " Do not say that! or I shall go
mad. I feel it here — here— in my head —
in my brain. I killed him, did H I killed
him — murdered him-*-the only friend I had
on earth! And you all stood and saw me
do it. Yes, I murdered him. Seel see!
thar's blood— his blood — I did it — ha, ha,
ha!" and he ended with a maniacal laugh,
threw himself upon the ground, and hug-
ged the corpse of his friend to his heart.

" Poor feller!" said one," he'd better be
taken into one o' the lodges, for he looks
like he'd lost his sense."

"No, no, no! you shan't — you shan't
part us!" cried the frenzied man, drawing
his dead companion closer to his heart, as
some of, the party sought to carry out the
suggestion just made. "No, no! you
shan't part us — never, tever, never! This
is Sam, this is — Sam Murdoch — ^he's my
friend — and we're goin a long journey to-
gether — aint we, Sam? We'll never part
agin — will we, Saml Never! never! — O,
never!— ha, ha, ha! Thar! thar!" he con-
tinued, dropping the body, rising to a sit-
ing posture, and staring wildly at some
imaginary object: "I see, Sam — I see!
You're in great danger. That rock's
about to fall. But hang on, Sam — hang
on to that root! Don't let go! Jim's
a-comin. O God! who put that chasm
thar — that mountain gorge — to separate
us] I can't git across. Help! help! or
Sam will die. Yes, he's fallin now! Thar!
thar! he's goin — down-^own — down. But
heyar's what'll meet ye, Sam. Comin!
comin!" and whipping out his knife as he
said this, before any one was aware what
he was about, or had time to prevent Jiim^
he plunged it into his heart, and gasping
the word " Comin," rolled over upon the
earth and expired beside his friend.

I had been a silent witness of the whole
bloody, terrible scene— but my feelings
can neither be imagined nor described.
Speechless with horror, I stood and gaied
like one in a nightmare, without the pow-
er to move, and was only roused from my
painful revery by Huntly, who, tapping
me on the shoulder, said:

" Come away, Frank — come away I"

OR, ADVENTURES III THE FAR WEST.

99

Complying with his request, I turned,
and together we quitted the ground, both
too deeply affected and horrified at what
we had seen to make a single comment.
V' The mountaineers, with whom such and
similar scenes were of common occur-
rence, proceeded to deposit the dead in a
rude grave near the spot where they had
fallen. They then returned to the en*
campment, to take a drink to their memo-
ries, coolly talk over the ^ Sad mishap," as
they termed it, and again to engage ia
their usual routine of amusement or occu-
pation. In a week the whole affair was
forgotten, or mentioned only to some new
comer as having happened ''some time

/. ago-"

Upon the mind of myself and friend, it

produced an impression never to be erased;
and fM* a long time, apparitions of the un-
fortunate trappers, haunted my waking
senses by day, and my dreams by night.

CHAPTER XXII.

SESOLVE TO DEFiiRT — DISCOURAGIITG OBSER-
VATIOKS — FAIL TO GET A GUIDE — SET OUT
— UINTAH FORT — OUR JOURNEY TO UTAH
LAKE — RESOLVE TO CROSS THE GREAT IN-
TERIOR BASIN — FIRST DAT's PROGRESS—-
CAMP — KILL A RABBIT — SUDDEN ATTACK
FROM THE DIGGERS — REPULSE AND FOR-
TUNATE ESCAPE.

We had been a month in Brown's Hole,
without having seen or b^wrd any thing
concerning our old f^cq^hitancea-^vduring
which time another mo^ntaineer had heeip^
the victim of a quarrel, ti^ough his death we
did not witnesft-irwhen I proposed to Huntly
to set forward at once, ai\d leave a place
so little adapted to o\ir- W.stes and feel-
ings.

" But where do you jUFQpose going,
Frank?" inquired my friendt
' " To California,"

" But can we find the way by ourselves?"

'' We shall hardly find a pHce less to
our liking than this, at all events," I xs^w
plied.

" But we are safe here. Prank,"

" I presume Charles Huntly does not
fear danger, or he would not have ventur-
ed westward at all."

<< Enough, Frank! Say no more! I
am your man. But when shall we start?"

" What say you for to-morrow moan-
ing?"

" Agreed. But perhaps we cani hire a
guide?"

** We will try," I rejjDlned.

But our trial proved fruitless. N^o guide
could be found, whose luve of money would
tempt him, at this season of the year, to
undertake the conducting of us to Califor-
nia: while on every hand we were assail-
ed by the mountaineers, with the most
startling accounts of dangers from Indians,,
from snows, from floods, froai storms, and
from starvation.

" You never can fetch through," said
one. " It's a fixed um possibility."

" You're fools ef you undertake it," join-
ed in another.

" It's like jumpin on to rocks down a
three hundred foot precipice, and spectia
to git off without no bones broke," rejoin-
ed a third.

" Ef you know what's safe, you'll jest
keep your eyes skinned, and not leave these
here diggins," added a fourth.

But these remarks, instead of discour-
aging us, produced exactly the opposite ^
effect, and roused our ambition to encoun-
ter the formidable dangers of which all
were so eager to warn us. To Huntly and
myself, there appeared something bold and
manly in attempting what all seemed to
dread; and to each and all I accordingly
replied:

** It is useless, gentlemen, trying to dis-
courage us. We have decided oh going,
and go we shall at all hazards."

** All I've gQi to say, then, i», that it'll
be th^ last goiR you'll' do in this world,"
rejoined -the friend of Black George, who
seemed uncommonly loth to part with us^

TTie next morning rose cleai and cold —
for the air in this part of the country had
become quite frosty — aod agreeably to our
resolve o^ the preceding day, we ecjuippedi
ourselves and horses once more, and bid-
ding our mountaineer friends adieu, set for-
ward in fine spirits — shaping our course,

100

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

to the best of our judgment, so as to strike
the southern range of the Bear River
Mountains, in the vicinity of the Utah
Lake, which connects with the Great Salt
Lake on the north.

To give our progress in detail, would
only be to describe a succession of scenes,
incidents and perils, similar to those al-
ready set before the reader, and take up
time and space which the necessity of the
case requires me to use for a more import-
ant purpose. I shall, therefore, content
myself with sketching some of the most
prominent and startling features of our
route — a route sufficiently full of perils, as
we found to our cost, to put to the test the
temerity and try the iron constitution of
the boldest and most hardy adventurer.

While in Brown's Hole, we had (succeed-
ed in purchasing of one of the traders, at
a high price, a map and compass, which
he had designed especially for his own use,
and similar to those we had provided our-
selves with on starting, but which, togeth-
er with many other valuable articles, had
been left in our possible sacks at Fort La-
ramie.

On our compass and map we now placed
our whole dependence, as our only guide
over a vast region of unexplored country —
or explored only by a few traders, trappers
and Indians — Fremont's celebrated expe-
dition, which created at the time such uni-
versal interest throughout the United
States, not being made till some three or
four years subsequent to the date of which
I am writing. And here, en passant, I
would remark, that in determining our
course for California, we had particular
reference to the southern portion of it; for
as every reader knows, wh© is acquainted
with the geography of the country, or who
has taken the trouble to trace our route on
the map — we were already within the
northeastern limits prescribed to this
mighty territory.

Leavin-r the delightful valley of Brown's
Hole, we dashed swiftly onward in a south-
westerly direction, and our horses being
in fine travelling order, we were enabled
to pass a long stretch of beautiful country,
and camp, at close of day, on the banks of
a stream known as Ashley's Fork. Cross-

ing this the next morning, we continued
on the same course as the day previous,
and night found us safely lodged in the
Uintah Fort — a solitary trading post in the
wilderness — which was then garrisoned by
Spaniards and Canadians, with a sprink-
ling of several other nations, together
with Indian women, wives of the traders
and hunters, who comprised the whole fe-
male department.

Here we sought to procure a guide, but
'with the same success as before — not one
caring to risk his life by an experiments©
fool-hardy, as undertaking a journey of
many hundred miles, with a force so small,
over a pathless region of territory, and
either peopled not at all, or by hostile tribes
of savages.

The accounts we received from all quar-
ters of the dangers before us, were certain-
ly enough to have intimidated and changed
the designs of any less venturesome thanwe,
and less firmly fixed in a foolish determina-
tion to ptish to the end what at best could
only be termed an idle, boyish freak. But
as I said before, our ambition was roused to
perform what all were afraid to dare, and
we pressed onward, as reckless of conse-
quences as though we knew our lives spe-
cially g[uaranteed to us, for a term of years
beyond the present, by a Power from on
high. I have often since looked back to
this periodj and shuddered at the thought^
of what we then dared; and I can now
snly account for our temerity— our indif-
ference to the warnings we received — as
resulting from a kind of monomania.

A travel of some two or three days,
brought us to a stream called the Spanish
Fork, and pushing down this, through a
wild gorge in the Wahsatch Mountains,
we encamped the day following on its
broad, fertile bottoms, near its junction
with, and in full view of, the Utah Lake.
We were now in the country of the Utah's,
a tribe of Indians particularly hostile to
small parties of whites, and the utmost
caution was necessary to avoid falling into
their clutahes. On either hand, walling
the valley on the right and left, rose wild,
rugged, frowning cliffs, and peaks of moun-
tains, lifting their heads far heavenward,
covered with eternal snows.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

101

At this particular spot was good grazing
for our horses; but judging by the appear-
ance of the country around us, and the in-
formation we had received from the moun-
taineers, we were about to enter a sterile
region, with little or no vegetation-^in
many places devoid of water and game (our
main dependence tor subsistence) — peo-
pled, if at all, by the Diggers only — an ani-
mal of the human species the very lowest in
the scale of intellect — in fact scarcely re-
moved from the brute creation — who sub-
sist upon what few roots, lizards and rep-
tiles they can gather from the mountains
— sometimes in small parties of three and
four, and sometimes in numbers — and who,
being perfect cannibals in their habits,
would not fail to destroy us if possible,
were it for nothing else than to feast upon
our carcasses. Take into consideration, too,
our education— our luxurious habits through
life — our inability to contend with numbers
— that the only benefit we could derive from
our expedition would be in satisfying our
boyish love of adventure — and I think even
the most reckless will be free to pronounce
'Our undertaking (ool-hardy in the extreme.

So far, we had been very fortunate in
escaping the savages; but from all appear-
ances we could not do so much longer;
and what would be the result of our meet-
ing, God only knew. We were now on
the borders of the Great Interior Basin,' a
region of country containing thousan4^s on
thousands of miles, never yet explored by
a white man, perhaps by no living being!
Should we make the attempt to cross it?
We could but lose our lives at the worst,
and we might perchance succeed, and find
a nearer route to Western or Southern
California than the one heretofore travel-
led. There was something inspiring in
the thought; and tne matter was discussed
in our lone camp, in the dead hours of
night, with no little animation.

" What say you, Frank)" cried Huntly
the next morning, rousing me from a sweet
dream of home. " Westward or south-
ward?"

** Why," I replied, ** there is danger in
cither choice — so choose for yourself."

" Well, I am for exploring this region
l«ft blank on the map.'^

" Then we will go, live or die," I rejoin-
ed; " for I long myself to behold what has
never as yet been seen by one of my

»

race.

The matter thus decided, we mounted
our horses, and keeping to the south of
the Utah Lake, crossed a small stream, and
about noon came to a halt on the brow of
a high hill, forming a portion of the Wah-
satch range. Below us, facing the west,
we beheld a barren track of land, with
here and there a few green spots, and an
occasional stream sparkling in the bright
sunlight, \|i7hich led us to the inference
that there might be oases, at intervals of
a day's ride, across the whole Great Basin,
tx) the foot of the Sierra Nevada or Snowy
Range, which divides it from ihe pleasant
valleys of the Sacramento and San Joa-
quin.

It was a delightful day, and every thing
before us, even the most sterile spots,
looked enchanting in the soft mellow
light. Descending the mountain with not
a little difficulty, we set forward across
the plain, shaping our course to the near-
est point likely to afford us a good encamp-
ment. But the distance was much farther
than we had anticipated, when viewing it
from the mountain; and although we urged
our beasts onward as much as they could
bear, night closed around us long ere we
reached it. Reach it we did at last; and
heartily fatigued with our day's work, we
hobbled our horses, and without kindling
a fire, or eating a morsel of food, rolled
ourselves in our robes of buffalo, and fell
asleep.

The «un of the succeeding morning,
shining brightly in our faces, awoke us;
ai)d springing to our feet, we gazed around
with mingled sensations of awe and de-
light. Doubtless we felt, in a small de-
gree, the emotions excited in the breast of
the adventurer, when for the first time he
finds himself on ground which he fancies
has never yet been trod nor seen by a
stranger. We had entered a country now,
which the most daring had feared or failed
to explore, and we felt a noble pride in the
thought that we should be the first to lay
before the world its mysteries.

The point where we had encamped, was

102

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

greeji and fertile, abouncfing with what is
termed buffalo grass, with trees unlike any
I had before seen, and with wild flowers
innumerable. Like an island from the
ocean, it rose above the desert around it,
covering an area of a mile in circumfer-
ence, and was watered by several bright
springs of delightful beverage.

Turning our gaze to the eastward, we
beheld the snowy peaks of the Wahsatch
Mountains, which we had left behind us,
looming up in grandeur; while to the west-
ward, nothing was visible but an unbroken,
barren, pathless desert. Here was cer-
tainly a prospect any thing but charming
— ^yet not for a moment did we waver in
our determination to press onward.

It will be remembered, that on leaving
the village of the Mysterious Nation, Prai-
rie Flower had taken care to furnish us a
good supply of jerk; and this, by killing
more or less game on our route, we had
been enabled to retain in our possession,
to be eaten only in cases of extreme ne-
necessity; consequently we did not fear
suffering for food, so much as for water;
and even the latter we were sanguine of
finding, ere any thing serious should occur.
The only matter that troubled us sorely,
was the fear our noble animals would not
be as fortunate as we, and that starvation
might compel them to leave their bones in
the wilderness, and thereby oblige us to
pursue our journey on foot — an event, at
the reader will perceive, far more probable
than agreeable.

As we had eaten nothing the previous
night, we now felt our appetites much
sharpened thereby, and looking around in
the hope of discovering game, my eye
chanced upon a rabbit. The next moment
the sharp crack of my rifle broke upon the
solitude, and the little fellow lay djead in
his tracks.

7 Hastily dressing him and kindling a fice,
we were already in the act of toasting the
meat, when whiz-z-z came a dozen arrows
through the air, some of them actually
penetrating our garments without wound-
ing us, and others . burying them«elv^s in
the ground at our feet. Springing up with
aery of alarm, we grasped our rlfles^though
only one was loaded, and turned to Ipv]^

for the enemy. Upon a steep blufi*, some
thirty paces behind us, we beheld some
fifteen or twenty small, dirty, miserable
looking savages, with their bows and ar-
rows in their hands, already in the act of
giving us another volley.

** By heavens! Frank," cried Huntly, " it
is all over with us now."

" Never say die to such dirty curmud-
geons as them," I rejoined, more vexed
than alarmed. " Quick! Charley — dodge
behind this tree! and while I load, be
sure you bring one of them to his last ac-
count!"

While speaking I ran, followed by my
friend, and scarcely had we gained shelter,
when whiz-z-z came another flight of ar-
rows, some of them actually piercing the
tree behind which we stood.

"Quick! Charley — they are looking to-
ward our horses! (These were feeding
within ten paces of us.) There! they are
on the point of shooting them. Take the
leader! For heaven's sake don't miss —
or we are lost!"

As I spoHe.the rifle of my friend belched
forth its deadly contents, and the foremost
of our foes, who was just on the point of
discharging an arrow at one of the horses,
shot it at random, and, with a loud yell, fell
headlong down the bluff, and was dashed
to piecea on the rocks below. Several
others had their bows drawn, but on the
fall of their companion, they also fired at
random, and approaching the bluff, gazed
down upon his mangled remains, uttering
frantic yells of rage and grief.

By this time my own rifle was loaded,
and taking a hasty aim, I tumbled a se-
con4 &f^6r the first. The savages were
now alarmed in earnest, and retareating.
several paces, just made their faces visi-
ble, apparently undecided whether to re-
treat or attack us in a body. This was an .
important moment; but fortunately for ua,
the rifle of Huntly was now again loaded,
and taking a rapre careful sight than be-
fore, he lodged the ball in the head of a
third. This created a terrible panic among
our enemien, who fled precipitately.

Now was. our chance^.and perhaps our
only chance, to escape; for we knew ne-^
tiling o| the number of our foe, nor at

f-i

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

103

what moment he might return with an
overwhelming force; and calling to Hunt-
ly, I darted to my horse and cut the tether-
rope with my knife; and so rapidly did both
of us work, that in three minutes we were
in our saddles and galloping away.

As we turned the southern point of this
desert island, we heard an ominous succes-
sion of yells, and some forty rods away to
the right, beheld a band ©f at least fifty
Indians, of both sexes, together with
some twenty miserable huts. This was
evidently their village, and, from what we
could judge, they were preparing to re-
new the attack, as we had feared, when our
appearance apprised them of our escape.

To the best of our judgment, they were
Diggers, and on this oasis dragged out their
miserable existence. Being divided from
us by a ridge, neither party had been aware
of the proximity of the other, until the
discharge of my rifle at the rabbit. This
it appears had alarmed them, and excited
an immediate attack, from the fatal conse-
quence of which kind Heaven had so pro-
videntially delivered us. We thought se-
riously of giving them a parting salute — '■
particularly as they seemed to grieve so
much for our departure — but on second
consideration, concluded we would reserve
our ppwder and ball, not knowing how ne-
cessary to self-preservation these might yet
•become; and so taking oflT (Mir hats, and
waving them a kind farewell, we dash6d
Away over the plain.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A BARREN DESERT — NO WATER — ALARMING
CONDITION OF OUR HORSES — CAMP— A LIT-
TLE REFRESHED— A 8ANBT DESERT — ^IN-
GREA8ED SUFFERINGS — DEATH OF MY
friend's horse — A DRAUGHT OF BLOOD
— CONSULTATION — RESOLVE TO PRESS ON
-t-DEATH OP MY OWN HORSE — ^AFOOT — A
TERRIBLE NIGHT — HOPE — IN SIGHT OF AN
OASIS — GRATITUDE — ALMOST SUPERHU-
MAN EXERTIONS— A STREAM-r-IN SANITY
—EXHAUSTIONt— RELIEF.

Our progress through the day was over
a^ ^arid waste of cakareous formation! de-

void of all vegetation, with the exception
of a few tall, stiff, wire-lik^ weeds, that
grew here and there, where the soil appear*
ed a little moist and loomy. Deep ravines,
or cracks in the earth, in some places to
the depth of it might be a thousand feet,
cut across |he ground in every direction,
and rendered every thing like speed, or
travelling after. night, out of the question.
These gullies, when very narrow, we
forced our horses to Ieap~*but frequently
had to ride around them— on account of
which our progress westward was slow
and tedious. The sun here seemed at least
twenty degrees warmer than on the high-
lands we had left behind us, and not hav-
ing come to any water, we began about
mid-day to feel the oppression of a burn-
ing thirst, while our well fed and well wa-
tered animals of the morning, showed
alarming signs of experiencing the same
sensation, by lolling their tongues, occa-
sionally smelling the earth, and snuffing
the dry air. Oh! what would we not have
given, even then, for a bucket of water,
cool from some deep well!

We found no place to noon, and conse-
quently were forced to push forward, in
the ' hope of reaching an oasis for our
night's encampment.

On, on we went, our thirst increasing
to a great degree, while the sun rolled
slowly down toward the west, and yet no-
thing around and before us but this same
dull, arid waste. We now began to expe-
rience the effects of our rashness, and, if
truth must be told, secretly wish ourselves
safely clear of our undertaking, though
neither breathed a word to the other of
the thoughts passing in his mind. Our
horses, Xbo, seemed very much fatigued,
and required considerable spurring to haste
them forward.

The sun had now sunk within an hour
of the horizon, and yet the same cheerless
prospect lay before us. We looked back,
and far in the distance, like a mole-hill,
coi^d faintly trace the outline of the oasis
of our last encampment; while beyond,
the showy peaks of the. Wahsatch glisten-
ed in the sunbeams. Advancing a couple
of miks, we fonnd ourselves compelled to
camp for the night, without water, and

104

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

with nothing for our horses to eat; and
the fact of this was any thing but cheer-
ing.

" What is to be done!" askedi Huntly.
" We can not long exist without water,
and our poor beasts are already suffering
to an alarming degree, and wjU not be
likely to bold out more than one day more
at the most."

" Well, I fancy by that time we shall
come to a spot' similar to the one behind

us.

»

" Then you think we had better go for-
ward?"

'* I dislike the idea of turning back. Be-
sides, we should probably fall into the
hands of the savages, and death h^re looks
ffill as tempting as there."

** But our horses, Frank — poor beasts!
see how they suffer."

" I know it, and would to Heaven I could
relieve tbem! But we cannot even help
ourselves."

" Do you think they can go through an-
other day like this?"

" I am unable to say."

" Oh! it would be awful to be put afoot
in this desert "

" By no means a pleasant matter, I must
own. But, my friend, this is no time to get
alarmed. We have set out, after being
duly warned, and must therefore make the
most of the circumstances we have brought
upon ourselves. If our horses die, we
must use their blood to quench our thirst."

" Heavens! Frank," exclaimed Huntly,
startled with a new idea,/' what if anoth-
er day's travel like this should still leave
us in the bare desert, with no haven in
sigkl"

" Why, I should consider our case near-
ly hopeless; but we will trust to having
better fortune."

We now ate sonle of our toeat with but
little relish, and throwing ourselves upon
the earth, at length fell into a kind of fe-
verish slumber. A heavy dew falling du-
ring the night, refreshed us not .a little.
At the first streak of daylight, we were
again in our saddles, and found, much to
our joy, that although our poor beasts had
eaten not a morsel since the morning pre*
viou», tliey, like ourselves, ^ere consider-

ably invigorated by a night of repose.
Setting forward again, as cheerfully as the
circumstances would permit, we travelled
some two or three houi^ at a fast amble;
^ but now the sun began to be felt rather
sensibly, and our beasts to flag and droop,
while our sensations of thirst seemed in-
creased ten-fold. If this was the case in
the morning, what would be the result ere
another nightl We shuddered at the
thought. .

About noon, the appearance of the
ground began to change for the worse,
which, in spite of ourselves, was produc-
tive of no little alarm. Gradually it be-
came more and more sandy, and an hour's
farther progress brought us to a desert
more barren than ever, where not a living
thing, vegetable or animal, could be seen,
over a dreary expanse, that, for all we
knew, might be hundreds of miles. in ex-
tent.

To add to the horrors of our situation,
our horses were evidently on the point of
giving out — for as they buried their feet in
the white, hot sand, they occasionally
floundered, and reeled, and stemed inclined
to lie down— while our own throats, lips,
and tongues began to swell, and the skin
of our faces and hands to blister and crack.
I recalled to mind the accounts I had read
of bones being found in the great Arabian
deserts, and I fancied that many years
hence, some more fortunate traveller might
so discover ours.

Cheering each other as well as we could,
we kept on for another hour, when the
horse of Huntly reeled, dropped upon his
knees, and fell over upon his side.

"O God!" cried my friend in despair,
"we are lost — we are lost! — and such a
death!"

" Our last hope is here," I rejoined, dis-
mounting and plunging my knife into the
dying beast; and as the warm blood spout-
ed forth, we placed our parched lips to it,
and drank with a greediness we had never
felt nor displayed for any thing before.

This gave us no little relief for the time,

and added vigor to our already drooping

and weakened frames. Qut what could it

I avail us? It might relieve us now — might

prolong our lives a few hours — only to g»

il

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

105

through the same terrihle tortures and find
death at last. Unless we could reach a
spring by another day's travel, or come in
sight of one, our case was certainly hope-
less; and to carry us forward, we now had
nothing to depend on but our own limbs
and strength, while our path must be over
a bed of hot, loose sand, where every step
would be buried ankle deep.

" Well, Prank," sighed Huntly at length,
** what are we to do now? I suppose we
may as well die here as elsewhere."

" No! not here, my friend; we will make
one trial more at least."

" And have we any prospect, think you,
of saving our lives — of seeing another
green spotV

"Why, you remember when on the
Wahsatch, we saw same hills away in the
distance; and unless it was an optical iW
lusion, I have a faint hope of being able
to reach them before this time to-morrow."

" God grant it, my friend! — for though I
fear not death more than another, there is
something horrible in the thought of leav-
ing my bones here in the wilderness."

"Well, well, cheer up, Huntly! and
trust in Providence to carry us safely
through."

A farther consultation resulted in the
decision to await the night, and if my horse
proved able to proceed, to let him carry oifr
sacks, rifles, &c., while we were to keep
him company on foot.

By the time the sun had fairly set, we
resumed our journey; but after a laborious
travel of half a mile, my horse gave out.
Taking from him a portion of the jerked
meat, our rifles, and such small articles as
we could not well do without, we left him
to his fate with many a sigh of regret.

It was a clear, starlight night, and the
air just cool enough to be comfortable;
but unlike the preceding one, we no long-
er had the refreshing dew to moisten our
bodies and renew our strength* Still we
succeeded better than I had anticipated,
and, by exertions almost superhuman, pla-
ced many a long mile 1)etween us and our
starting point, ere the first crimson streak
in the east told*that day was again dawn-
ing. To add hope to our drooping spirits,

we now found the ground becoming more

8

and more solid, and ere the sun peered over
the mountains, which were almost lost to
view in the distance, we set our feet once
more upon hard earth, similar in appear-
ance to that we had quitted for the sands.
Struggling on a mile or two farther, we
ascended a slight elevation, and, joy inex-
pressable! beheld far away before us a
ridge of green hills. All the extravagant,
unspeakable delight of the poor, shipwreck-
ed mariner, who has been for days tossed
about by the angry elements, without food
to save him from starvation, without water
to slake his consuming thirst, on behold-
ing, in the last agonies of despair, the
green hills of his native land suddenly
loom up before him-«all his unspeakable
emotions, I say, were ours; and silently
'dropping upon our knees, our hearts spoke
the gratitude to our All-wise Preserver
which our tongues were unable to utter.
True, the famished, worn-out mariner
, might die in sight of land — and so might
we in view of our haven of rest — yet the
bare hope of reaching it alive, a|ve ener-
gy to our sinking spirits and s&ength to
our failing limbs.

Again we pressed forward, our now
swollen and bloodshot eyes fixed eagerly
upon the desired spot, which, like an ignis-
fatuus, seemed only to recede to our ad-
vance. The sun, too, gradually rolling
higher and higher, till he reached the ze-
nith of his glory and began to descend to
ward the west, poured down his scorching
rays, (for they seemed scorching to us in
the desert) dried up as it were the jerj
marrow ^ our bones, blistered our parch-
ed and feverish skins, and caused our
limbs to swell, till every step became one
of pain almost unbearable. All our pre-
vious sufferings were as nothing, seeming-
ly, compared to our present; and when we
reached the bank of a stream, which
wound around the base of the hills, the
sun had already hid himself for the day,
and we sunk down completely exhausted!

Huntly, for the last two or three milea,
had shown symptoms of confirmed insani-
ty — ^had often raved about home, which he
declared was just below him in a pool ot'
clear water, which he, being chained to a
rock, was not permitted to reach, although

106

THE PRAHtlE FLOWER;

dying «f thiret — and had often turned to
me, with much the look of a ravenous
beast about to spring upon his prey — so
that, with the greatest difficulty, in my then
weak state, I had succeeded in getting him
to the stream, where, as I said before, we
both sunk down in a state of exhaustion.
Had the stream beeo a mile, or even half
a mile farther off, we must both have per-
ished in sight of that water which alone
could save us. Weak and worn-out as I
was, I still, thank God! had my senses —
though sometimes I fancied they were be-
ginning to wander — and I knew that for
either to indulge his appetite freely, would
be certain, to produce death.

As my friend seemed too feeble to move,
and as I was in a little better condition —
though now unable to walk — I crawled
over the ground to the stream, which was
not deep.,, and rolhsd into it, restraining
myself even then from tasting a. drop, un-
til my body was thoroughly soaked, and I
felt considerably revi^ged. After a bath of
some fiye minutes, I took a few draughts
of the s^rkling element, and never in my
life experienced such a powerful and speedy
change for the Jbetter. Almost instantly
I felt the life-renewing blood darting
through my veins, and I came out of the
water, as it were another being.

Hastening to my friend, I partially rais-
ed him, in. my arms, and dragging him to
the stream, tumbled him in, taking care to
keep a firm bold. In a few minutes I had
the satisfaction of seeing him slowly re-
vive. Then scooping up the water with
my hand, I placed it to his lips, which^he
drank eagerly. Gradually his strength
and consciousness returned, and with feel-
ings which none but one in my situation can
ever know, I at length heard him exclaim:

"Water! water! Thank God! Frank,
we are saved!" and falling upon the breast
of each other, overcome with emotions of
joy, our tears of gratitude were borne
away upon tlie river which laved our feet.

Eating sparingly, ever moistening our
food, we at last found our former strength
much, restored; and fording the stream,
we threw ourselves upon the grassy earth,
and slept. sQundlj/ tji^t night upon its west-
ern bi^n)£., ^

CHAPTER XXIV.

effects oe our journey — the mtsteet
solved exploratiow — gabie — ^a sup-
posed discovert of &old — travels re-
sumed — in sight of the sierra nevada
—joy— indians — reach the mountains
—ascent — ten thousand feet above
the sea — snow— sufferings — an in-
dian hut — hospitality — in sight of
the sacramento — arrival at sut-
ter's.

On the following morning, we found our
limbs so stiff and sore, as scarcely to be
able to move about. With great difficulty
we gained the river, and bathed ourselves
in its cool, refreshing waters, as on the
evening previous. The result of this seem-
ed very beneficial; but still we suffered too
much from our recent almost superhuman
exertions, to think of leaving our present
locality for a day or two at least.

Looking back over the desert which had
nearly cost us our lives, we could barely
perceive the shadowy outline of some of
the highest geaks of the Bear River and
Wahsatch Mountains; but not a trace of
that ridge whereop we had stood before
entering tfiis unexplored territory, from
whence we had beheld distant oases and
streams^ none of which, save the first, had
been found on our route. How this c«uld
be, was a matter of serious speculation,
until Huntjy suggested the fact of our havr
ing looked more to the southward than
westward. - His observation struck me
quite forcibly; for I now remembered hav-
ing examined our compass, shortly after
leaving the Indians, and of altering our %
course to the right, although previously I
had thought ourselves going due west. I
remembered, too, feeling somewhat sur-
prised at the time, that we had become so
turned, but had afterwards forgotten the
trifling circumstance — at least what then
Appeared trifling — though, as events pror
ved Anally, a circumstance of life and
death.

This then solved the mystery ! We had
come due west, instead of west by south,
.and consequently had missed the yery
^poii^ts^ WJ9 tho^gbt before us, and which

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

107

would have saved the lives of our poor
beasts.

For two days we remained on the bank
of the stream, which we not inappropri-
ately named Providence Creek, without
venturing away the distance of thirty
rods during the whole time. On the morn-
ing of the third day, we found our limbs
so pliable, and our strength so far .recruit-
ed, as to think ourselves justiiiad in resum-
ing our travels, or at all events in making
an exploration of the ridge above us.

Accordingly, ascending to the summit of
the bill — which was densely covered with
a wood somewhat resembling a£h, though
not so large — we made out the uplands
here to cover an area of five miles in
breadth byt^^entyin length, running al-
most due north and south, and ccnnposed
of two parallel ridges, full of springs of
fine water, some of which ran outward
and formed the stream we had first gained,
and others inward, forming another in the
valley between, both of which, taking a
southerly course, united on the way, and
entered at last into a beautiful lake, bare-
ly visible from the highest point, and
which also appeared the grand reservoir of
the surrounding country.

Our present locality was a rich and
beautiful desert island, and had our horses
been here, they would have fared sumptu-
ously on the green, luxuriant grass of the
valley. To the best of our judgment,
this spot had never before been visited by
human being, as no signs indicative there-
of could be found. The only game we
could discover, were a few ground animals
resembling the rabbit, and some gay plu-
maged birds. Wte killed a few of each, and
on dressing and cooking them, found their
flavor, especially the former, very delicious
and nutritive.

In this manner we spent- » week on
Mount* Hope, as we termed the ridge, ma-
king explorations, killing game, &c., and
at the end'of this time found our wonted
health and spirits nearly restored. We
knew not what was before us, it is .true;
but as kind I^rovidence had almost miracu-
lously preserved us through so many dan-
gers, we no longer had dread of our jour-
ney, nor fejtrs : of. s«fely reaching the val?

ley of the Sacramento, at which point wc
aimed*

One thing in our rambles struck us
quite forcibly — that in tlie beds of nearly
ail the streams we examined, we found a
fine yellow subctance, mixed with the dirt
and sands, which had every appearance of
gold. ^As we had no means of testing
thiS| we resolved to take some along as a
specimen, and should we escape, and our
surmises regarding it be confirmed, either
return ourselves, or put some hardy adven-
turer in possession of the secret. If this
were indeed gold, it must of course have
its source in some mine in the vicinity,
and this important discovery alone,. we felt,
would amply compensate us for all we had
dared and suffered jn venturing hither.

The next morning, like each of the pre-
ceding, being clear and serene, we resolv-
ed to dep9it, and again try our fortunes.
Looking toward the west, we beheld in the
distance another camping ground, and has-
tening down the western slope of the h^lls,
we made our way directly towards it, ovei;
a slightly undulating country, less sterile
in its appearance than the desert we had
crossed the previous week. We were not
able to reach it till after nightfall, and suf-
fered more or less ttu-ough the day for
want of water. Here we again found a
rich Boi\i wooded with what I believe is
termed the sage tree, and watered by sevr
eral delightful springs and streams, in
some of which, we bathed, and of which
we drank, much to our relief.

To follow up our progress in detail, would ■
be to take up more space than can now be
spared for the purpose, and^ in a great
measure, to repeat, with trifling variations ,
what rhave already given.

Suffice it, therefore, that our journey
was continued day after- day — sometimes
over sandy deaerts of two days- travel,
which blistered our feet, and where we
again suffered all the horrors of burning
thirst — sometimes over rough, dangerous
and voleanic grounds, along side of gjddy
precipices, and yawning chasms, andadowM .
steep declivities, where a single misstep
would have been fatal-^sometimes aeross
streams toe deep to ford, and which we
wdvei obliged} to awim^-^subgistiog^ a part.

108

THE PRAIRTE FLOWER;

of the way, on roots and such game as we ^ light, into huge pillars ef burnished gold*

could kill, (our supply of jerk having giv-
en out) and sleeping at night on the sands,
in the open air, or perhaps under the shel-
ter of some overhanging rock— occasion-
ally drenched with a storm of cold rain,
without a fire to dry our wet garments,
and suffering more or less from hunger,
and drought, and weariness, and violent
rheumatic pains.

Such was our pilgrimage, over an unex-
plored country; and yet through all our
sufferings, save the first, when we lost our
horses, our spirits were almost ever buoy-
ant, and we experienced a rapturous de-
light known only to the adventurer.

Some six weeks from our leaving the
Wahsatch range', we came in sight of the

We now considered ourselves compari-
tively safe, though by no means out of dan-
ger; for our route, over these mighty
erections of nature, we were well aware
must be one of extreme peril. Unlike the
desert, we might not sufiTer for want of wa-
ter — but, unlike the desert too, we might
with cold, snows, storms, and from hostile
savages.

Ou the succeeding day we began our
ascent. Up, up, up we toiled — ^through
dense thickets of dwarfish, shrubby trees —
through creeping vines-, full of brambles,
that lacerated our ankles and feet, (we had
long been shoeless,) — ^up, up, up the ftteep
mountain sides we struggled— over rocks
which sometimes formed precipices that

lofty peaks of the Sierra Nevada, which •, only yielded us here and there a danger-
we hailed with a shout of joy, similar to I ous foot-hold — occasionally leaping across
that of the sailor discovering land after a { canons, in which the torrent of the moun-
long, tedious voyage, and which awoke I tain rolled murmuring over its rocky bed
echoes in a wilderness never before dis- ! a thousand feet below us,— on, on, up and
turbed by the human voice. Five hundred on we pressed eagerly — sometimes suflfer-
miles of an unknown region had been pass- ing with fatigue, and with cold, and with
ed, almost the whole distance on foot, and hunger — up and on we bent our steps, for

now we stood in full view of our long
looked for desideratum. During this time
we had seen not a human being — always
excepting our unfortunate friends, the
Diggers— which led us to the inference,
that the larger portion of this Great In-
terior Basin was uninhabited — or, at all
events, very thinly peopled.

From this point to the Sierra Nevada,
our course now lay over a tough, mpun-
tainous country, well watered and timber-
ed; and on the second day, we came upon
one or two miserable, dilapidated huts —
which, from all appearance, had long been
untenanted — and a mile or two farther on,
saw a small party of savages, who, oh dis-
covering our approach, fled precipitately
to the highlands — we probably being the
first white human beings they had ever be-
held.

About noon of the third day we came to
1 beautiful lake, and going arouiid it,
retched the foot of the mountain chain
bohkiding the Great Basin on the west,
just aft the sun, taking his diurnal farewell
of thid ishbwy peaks above us, seemingly
transfbi'kliied then, by his soft, crimsoh

two, long, wearisome days, ere we reached
the regions of eternal snow.

At last we stood upon the very back* .
bone of the Sierra Nevada, ten thousand
feet above the sea, surrounded by a few
cedars, loaded with snow and ice, the for-
mer underneath us to the depth of many
feet— ^and gazed downward, far, far below
us, upon the broad, barren plains, fertile
uplands, lovely valleys, and bright, silver
streams and lakes — with feelings that are
indescribable.

A mile or two farther on, we came to a
pleasant valley, through which rolled a
beautiful stream. Here, collecting a
supply of drift-wood, we kindled a bright
fire, and disposing ourselves around it,
toasted our already swollen and frost bit-
ten feet, made our supper of a few roots
and berries which we had collected on the
way, and occupied most of the night in
constructing some rude moccasins out of
a quarter buffalo robe which we fortunate-
ly had brought with us.

Thus for several days did we continue
our perilous journey — passing through
scenes of danger and hardship, that, if

OR, ADVENTU RBB IN THE FAR WEST.

109

detailed, would fill a volume— sustained, in
all our trials, by a holy Being, to whom we
daily and nightly gave the sincere orisons
^of grateful hearts.

•^ Once, during our mountain journey, we
came very nigh being buried in a furious
sno^ storm; and but for the providential
shelter of an Indian hut, ere darkness set-
tled around us, this narrative in all proba-
bility had%iever been written. The hat
in question, stood on the side of the moun-
tain, and was constructed of sticks, wil-
lows, and rushes, well braided together, in
shape not unlike a modern bee-hive. The
tenants were an Indian, his squaw, and
two half-grown children, all miserable and
filthy in their appearance. Our sudden
entry (for we did not stop for etiquette)
alarmed them terribly, and they screeched
and drew back, and huddled themselves in
the farthest corner. However, on making
them friendly signs, and intimating we
only sought protection from the storm,
they became reassured, and offered us some
nuts of a pleasant flavor, peculiar to the
country, and which, as I learned, formed
their principal food. We spent the night
with them, and were treated with hospi-
tality.

On leaving, I presented the host with a
pocket-knife, which he received with an
ejaculation of delight, and examined cu-
riously. On opening it, and showing him
its uses. Lis joy increased to such a degree,
that, by signs, he immediately volunteered
to act as guide, and was accepted by us
without hesitation. He proved of great
service, in showing us the shortest and
best route over the mountains, and as a
kind of body guard against other savages,
whom we now occasionally met, but whom
he restrained from approaching us with any
undue familiarity.

On arriving in sight of Sutter's settle-
ment — situated near the junction of the
Rio Sacramento and Rio de los America-
nos, or River of the Americans — we gave
a wild shout of joy, and our guide made
signs that he would go no farther. As he
bad been with us several days, and had
proved so faithful, we could not bear he
should part from us without ^a further tes-

Accordingly, drawing from my belt a sil-
ver mounted pistol, I discharged it, show-
ed him how to load and fire it, and then
presented it to him, together with a belt-
knife and a good supply of powder and
ball; and he went back with all the pride
of an emperor marching from the conquest
of another kingdom.

Hurrying forward, with feelings which
are indescribable, we passed through a beau-
tiful valley, green with blade and bright
with flowers — through an Indian village,
where every person appeared neat and
comfortable, and well disposed toward us
— and at last, ascending a slight emi-
nence, just as day was closing, beheld be-
fore us, not half a mile distant, an Ameri-
can fortress, though in a Mexican country
and garrisoned by Indians.

In fifteen minutes more we had passed
the dusky sentinel at the gate, and enter-
ed an asylum of rest from our long pilgrim-
age. We were received by Capt. Sutter
himself, who, galftering only a brief outlin'e
of our adventures and sufferings, express-
ed surprise to see us here alive, shook our
hands with all the warm-heartedness of
an American friefnd, and gave us a most
cordial invitation to make his citadel our
home, so long a« we might feel disposed
to remain in the country.

CHAPTER XXV.

OUR APPEARANCE — SUTTER AND FORT —

LEAVE IN THE SPRING REFLECTIONS — A

YEAR PASSED OVER — ON OUR RETURN —
THE ANTELOPE — CHASE — LOSS OF MT
FRIEND — TERRIBLE FEARS — DESPAIR —
FEARFUL RESULTS, ETC.

Worn-out and starved-out; — our garments
all in tatters — our frames emaciated — our
faces long, thin and sallow — with sunken
eyes and a beard of some two months'
growth — we presented any thing but an
attractive appearance on our first arrival
at Sutter's. But with the aid of soap and

water—- a keen razor — new raiment, and a
timpnial of our generosity and gratitude. ^ couple of weekff' ir^^^ — we hegan opc^

i

110

THE PRAIRIE FLOWERj

more to resemble civilized beings, and feel
like ourselves.

v' Captain Sutter we foiind to possess all
the refined qualities of a hospitable Amer-
ican gentleman. He had emigrated to
this country, from the western part of
Missouri, a year or two previous to our
arrival, and had already succeeded iit es-
tablishing a fort, on a large grant of land
obtained from the Mexican government.
He had succeeded, too, in subduing and ma-
king good citizens the surrounding Indians,
many of whom were already in bis em-
ploy — some as soldiers, to guard his for-
tress — some as husbandmen, to till his
soil — and some as vaquerosy or cow-herds,
to tend upon his kine and cattle; so that
every thing around gave indications 'of an
industrious, wealthy and prosperous set-
tler.

The fort itself was a large, quadrangu-
lar adobe structure, capable of being garri-
soned by a thousand men — though at the
time of which I speak, tHe whole force
consisted of some thirty or forty Indians,
(in uniform) and some twenty -five Ameri-
can, French and German employes. It
mounted some ten or twelve pieces of ord-
nance, and was well supplied with other
munitions of war, most of which, together
with a large number of stock, agricultural
and other stores, Sutter had purchased
from a neighboring Russian establishment,
prior to its being withdrawn from the
country. Its internal appearance — its ar-
rangement of carpenter and blacksmith
shops, store-rooms, offices, dz.c. — so close-
ly resembled Fort Laramie, as to make
further description unnecessary.

Here we remained through the winter,
amusing ourselves in various ways — some-
times in hunting among the mountains,
exploring the country, and fishing in the
streams — and at others, in making our-
selves masters of the Spanish tongue,
which was spoken by many of the Indians
and all of the natives. This last, how-
ever, was more for our benefit than amuse-
ment — as we had determined on a visit to
the seaport places in the lower latitudes
of Mexico, so soon as the annual spring
rains, being over, should leave the ground
in a good condition for travelling.

It was some time between the first .and
middle of May, that, mounted upon a cou-
ple of fiery horses, which, decked oflT with
all the showy trappings of two complete
Spanish saddle equipments, had been press-
ed upon us as a present by our generous
host, we bade adieu to the noble hearted
Captain Sutter and family, and set out
upon our southern journey.

As we rode along, it was witlf feelings
of pleasant sadness we looked back over
the eventful past, and remem«bered that
about this time a year ago, two gay youths,
fresh from college, were leaving friends
and home for the first time, to venture
they scarce knew whither. Aird wiiat of
those friends now? Were they alive, and
well, and in prosperity] Had their thoughts
been much on the wanderers] Had they
looked for our return? Had they wept in
secret for our absence, and prayed daily
for our preservation] Ah! yes, we well
knew all this had been done; and the
thought that we were still keeping them
in suspense — that we were still venturing
farther and farther away — could not but
make us sad. But, withal, as I said be-
fore, it was a pleasant sadness; for we se-
cretly felt a delight in going over new
scenes — ^beholding new objects. More-
over, we were now in good health; otfr
constitutions felt vigorous; and this tended
to raise our spirits.

What an eventful year had the past one
been! Through what scenes of trial, pri-
vation, sufifering and peril had we not pass-
ed! And yet, amid all, how had we been
sustained by the hand of Omnipotence!
How had we been lifted up and borne for-
ward over the quicksands of despair! And
when all appeared an endless, rayless
night, how had our trembling souls been
rejoiced by the sudden light of hope beam-
ing upon our pathway, and showing us a
haven of rest!

But where would another year find us]
In what quarter of the habitable globe,
and under what circumstances] Should
we be among the living, or the dead] The
dead! What a solemn thought, to think
that our bones might be reposing in the
soil of the stranger — ^tliousands of miles
from all we loved, and from all that loved

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

Ill

as! What a startling idea! And yet, in
our journeyingB, how indifferent, how care-
less had we been of life ! With what fool-
hardiness had we even dared death to meet
us! And still, with all the frightful warn-
ings of the past before us, how recklessly
were we plunging on to new scenes of
danger! Why did we not turn now, and
bend our steps homeward! Had we not
seen enojgh, suffered enough, to satisfy
the craving desires of youth] .

Home! What a blessed word of a thou-
sand joys! With what pleasing emotions
the thought would steal upon our senses!
What a world of affection was centered
there! What happy faces the thought re-
called, and how we longed to behold them!
Longed, yet took the very course to put
time and distance between us and them!
And this to gratify what our sober reason
told us was only a foolish, boyish passion
— a craving love of adventure!

Home! In that word I beheld the loved
faces of my parents. In that word I be-
held the welcome visages of my friends.
In that word, more than all, I beheld the
sweet, melancholy countenance of Lilian I

Lilian! How this name stirred th«^ ee-
\cret emotions of a passionate soul! Had
1 forgotten her) Had 1, through all the
varied scenes I had passed, for a moment
lost sight of her lovely countenance— of
her sweet eyes beaming upon me the
warm affections of an ardent soull No!
I had not forgot, I never could forget, her.
She was woven among the fibres of my
existence. To tear her hence, would be
to rend and shatter the soul itself. Thou-
sands of miles away, she was not absent.
She was with me in all my trials, suffer-
ings and perils. Present by day, with her
eyes of love. Hovering around me in the
still watches of night, as it were the guar-
dian angel of my destiny. Lilian was
loved. Time and distance proved it. —
Loved with a heart that could never for-
sake—never so love another. I had done
her wrong. But should God spare my life,
and permit us again to meet, how quickly,
by, every means in my power, would I
strive to repair it.

Such and similar were our thoughts, as
we again bent our steps upon a long jour-

ney- But I wiir not test your patience,
reader, with more. Neither am I going
to weary you with a long detail of common-
place events. In other words, I am not
going to descri*»e our journey to the south.
Like similar journeys, it was full of fa>-
tigue, with here and there an incident, or
a curiosity, perhaps a danger — ^which, were
I making an official report to government,
would be necessary to note— but over
which you, doubtless, would yawn and call
the writer stupid.

Suffice it, then, that with me you let a
year pass unnoted. That you imagine us
having gone, a thousand miles into the
heart of Mexico, and, heartily sick and
disgusted with our travels, the people, and
for the most part the country, you now
find us on our glad journey to the north-
fully determined, in our own minds, from
this time forward, to let such aa choose, go
among barbarians worae than savages, so
they seek not us for companions. From
this sweeping clause of condemnation, let
me save the Mexican ladies; who, for the '
most part, exercise Christian virtues, wor-
thy of a better fate than being yoked and
bound to such lazy, * filthy, treacherous
bentes as hold over them the dominion of
lord and master. But enough! The bare
thought of the latter puts mein'a passion;
and so to get an even temper once more,
let me consign them to oblivious contempt. ^

You will fancy, then, that a year has
passed, and that we, having so far escaped
with our lives, are now on our return to
Upper California, thence to shape our route
to Oregon, and then, ho! for the far dis-
tant land of our childhood.

Little did we dream in that happy mo-
ment of contemplation, of the terrible ca-
lamity about to befall us. Little did we
think that our hearts, bright v/ith hope and
joy, were soon to be clouded With wo un-
utterable — grief inconsolable. And why
should we] We who had been through
so many perils, and made so many miracu-
lous escapes, where death seemed inevit-
able — why should we now, comparatively
safe, already on our return, for a moment
harbor the thought that a misfortune, be-
fore which all we had suffered sunk into
insignificance^ waa impending us? How

112

THE PJIAIRIE FLOWEE;

little does man know his destiny! Poor,
blind mortal! what presumption in him to
attempt to read the scroll of fate! But
let me not anticipate.

It was a bright, warm day in the spring
of 1842, that we arrived at Pueblo de los
Angelos, where the Great Spanish Trail
comes in from Santa Fe. We had been
on the move day after day for nearly a
month, during which time we had travelled
some five hundred miles, and our horses
were very much fatigued in consequence.
Besides, their shoes being worn out and
their feet sore, we resolved to remain here
a few days, to have them shod, recruited,
and put in a good travelling condition,
while our time was to be spent in hunt-
ing, and examining the country round
about. ^

Giving our beasts in charge of a re-
sponsible person, with orders to see them
well attended to, we set forward with our
rifles, and taking the Spanish Trail, which
here ran due east and west, we followed it
some two miles, and then leaving it to the
right, struck off into the mountains known
as the Coast Range.

About noon we came to a point where
the country assumed a very rough and
wild appearance. Cliff upon cliff rose
one over the other, above which, still, a few
peaks shot up far heavenward, capped with
everlasting snows. Tremenduous preci-
pices, deep caverns, and wild gorges, could
be seen on every hand, full of danger to
the unwary explorer.

Making a halt, we were already debating
whether to advance or retrace our steps,
when, as if to decide and lure us forward,
a fine antelope was discovered on a rock
above us, not over a hundred yards distant,
coolly eyeing us from his supposed safe
retreat. Scarce a moment elapsed, so
quick were the motions of each, ere our
pieces, speaking together, told him too
late of his error. He was wounded, this
we could see, but not enough to prevent
his flight, and he turned and bounded over
the rocks up the steep.

" By heavens! Frank," cried Huntly,
with enthusiasm, " here is sport in earnest.
Nothing to do but give chase. He must
not escape us. Dart you up the mountain,

while I, by going round, will perhaps head
him off on the other side. At all events,
we will soon meet again."

On the impulse of the moment, I sprang
forward in one direction and Huntly in an-
other. To the great danger of my neck,
I clambered up the steep acclivity, over
precipitous rocks, gaping fissures, and
through a dense brushwood, and stood at
last upon the spot where we had first seen
the goat. Here was a small pool of blood,
and a bloody trail marked the course of
the animal; and I pressed on again, right-
ly judging, from the quantity of blood left
behind, that he could not hold out any
great distance. But the distance proved
farther than I had anticipated, and half an
hour found me completely out of breath,
on the brow of one of the lower ridges,
without having come in sight of the ante-
lope. Here the trail, more bloody than
ever, took a downward course, and I count-
ed on finding the chase between me and
the foot of the hill. At this moment I
heard, as I fancied, the shout of my friend;
and thinking it one of delight, on being
the first to reach the goat, I gave an an-
swering one of joy, and descended rapidly
on the red trail. /

Within fifty yards of the valley, I dis-
covered the object of my search, lying on
his side, pierced by two bullets, and in
the last agonies of death. Applying' my
knife to his throat, I made an end of his
sufferings, and then looked eagerly around
for my friend. He was no where to be
seen. I called — ^but no answer. This
somewhat surprised me, as I felt certain
of having heard his voice in this direction.
Thinking he could not be far off, I repeat-
ed his name at the top of my lungs, but
with no better success.

Although somewhat alarmed, I consoled
myself by thinking I must have been mis-
taken in the sound I had heard, and that
at all events he would soon ma\e his ap-
pearance. With this, I seated myself on
the ground, and throwing the breech of
my rifle down the mountain, occupied my-
self in loading it.

Minute after minute went by, but no
Huntly appeared, and I began to grow ex-
ceedingly uneasy. For a while I fancied

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

118

he might be watching me from some near
covert, juBt to note the effect of his ab-
sence; but when a half hour had rolled
around, and nothing had been seen nor
heard of him, I became alarmed in earnest.

Springing to my feet, I shouted his
name several times, with all the accents
of fright and despair. Then darting down
to the valley, I ran around the foot of the
mountain, making the woods echo with my
calls at every step. In half an hour more
I had gained the point where we parted —
but still no Huntly. God of mercy! who
can describe my feelings then! Nearly
frantic, I retraced my steps, shouting until
my lungs were sore — ^but, alas! with no
better success. There lay the antelope,
as I had left it, showing that no one had
been here during my absence.

Until the shades of night began to set-
tle over the earth, I continued my almost
frantic search; and then, tliinking it pos-
sible Huntly might have returned to the
settlement, I set out for los Angelos, with
the speed and feelings of a madman.
\^When I arrived there, it had long been
night. To my eager inquiries, eash and
all shook their heads, and replied that my
friend had not been seen since we departed
in the morning. Who could describe, who
imagine, my anguish on hearing this! —
Huntly, my bosom companion, was lost.
Captured it might be by guerrillas, or by
/ _Jsilians. Destroyed, perhaps, by some
wild beast, or by falling down some preci-
pice, or into some chasm. Gone he was,
most certainly; and I wrung my hands in
terrible agony, and called wildly upon his
name, though I knew he could not hear
me. So great was my distress, it excited
the pity of the spectators, several of whom
volunteered to go back with me and search
for him with torches. The proposition I
accepted eagerly, and that night the moun-
tains sparkled wiih flaming lights, and
their deep recesses resounded the name of
my friend, and cries of anguish. All night
long we searched faithfully, and shouted
witia all our might. But, alas! all to no
avail. My friend came not — answered
not — ^perhaps never would again.

When daylight once more lighted that
Atal spot, 9J9i tho99 who had assisted

me, declared it useless to search long-
er—- that Huntly was either dead or a pri-
soner—my anguish exceeded the strength
of my reason to bear, and I became a ra-
ving maniac

For two months from that date, I had
no' knowledge of what transpired; and
when, by the grace of God, consciousness
again returned, I found myself in a feeble
state, a close prisoner at Pueblo de los
Angelos.

To a noble hesrted Mexican lady, wife
of a Mexican military officer, for her kind-
ness to, and care of, a forlorn stranger, is
due a debt of gratitude, which perhaps I
may never have power to cancel, but which,
it is my daily prayer, may be found written
upon the eternal pages of the Great Book
of All-Good.

In June, a sad, emaciated, almost heart-
broken being, I resumed my journey to the
north. But alas! alas! poor Charles
Huntly! His fate was still unknown.—
His last words to me, spoken gaily, " At
aU eventt, we shaU soon meet again,^* had
never been fulfilled.

CHAPTER XXVI.

OK THE ROCKY MOtJHTAIlfS — HOMEWABD
BOUNX) — SAD REFLECTIOlfS — RAPID DE-
SCENT — TWO ERCAMPMEHTS — MEET OLD
FRIENDS — INCOG. — THEIR FRIENDSHIP
TESTED — ^MAKE MYSELF KNOWN — FRAN-
TIC JOY — ^VISIT THE SICK — ^PAINFUL AND
UNEXPECTED MEETING.

I Stood upon the summit of the Rocky
Mountains. I stood upon that point of
land which divides the rivers of the At-
lantic from the Pacific oceans. Upon that
mighty barrier, which bids its gushing riv-
ulets roll eastward and westward. Where,
springing from the same source, as chil-
dren from the same parents, they are sepa-
rated by the hand of fate, to end their
course thousands of miles apart.

I stood upon the great dividing ridge of
the North American Continent, and cast
my eyes over a mighty expanse of terri-
tory. But with what feelings did I gaze

114

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

around me! Were they feelings of joy?,
No! they could not be joyous. There was
one absent ^rom my side, that made them
sad. I needed the bright eye, noble face,
commanding form, warm heart and strong
hand of one who was now perhaps no
more. Had he been by — my now melaiik^
choly gaze bad been one of intoxicating,
enthusiastic rapture. In every hill, in
every tree, in every rock, in every rill, I
would have beheld something to make my
heart bound with delight— /or now I toas
homeward hound.

What a strange creature is man! It is
said that he sees with his eyes — but I con-
tend that his heart gives color to his vision.
If not, why do the same scenes, unchang-
ed in their appearance, to him present dif-
ferent aspects! Why does that which to-
day he beholds aydJ^eur de rose, to-morrow
wear the sable hue of gloom 1 Is not the
scene the' same? Are not his eyes the
same? Ay! but yesterday his heart was
light and bounding with joy — to-day it is
dark and oppressed with grief. All the
change, then, lies in the heart.

Yes! here I stood — alone — my face set
eastward — my steps bent to the still far
distant land of my youth. What had I
not been through, what had I not suffered,
since quitting that roof under which I had
known nothing but happiness and ease?
In little more than two years, I felt I had
lived an age, and even fancied my hair
growing gray at twenty-two.

Yes! I was wending my way to my native
land; but should God permit me to reach
there alive, what an unenviable lot was
mine, to make the home of my friend the
house of lamentation and wo! And Lilian,
dear Lilian — to whom, would to God, I could
bring nothing but joy — I must be doomed,
too, to make her weep, to fill her bright eyes
with tears, and robe her fair form in funer-
al weeds. Alas! alas! what bitter neces-
sity! How my soul groaned in anguish
at the thought, until I envied the supposed

, cold death-sleep of him I wept.

Such were some of my thoughts and

, feelings, as I commenced descending the
eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. I
have said nothing of my route hither, since
leaving Pueblo de los Angelos, and for the

very reason there was little or nothing to*
say. My horse had borne me hither; my
hand had guided him; my food had been
suck as came in my way; my sleep had
been mostly upon the hard earth in the
open air; my route had occasionally been
pointed out to me — occasionally had beea
taken at a venture: I had sometimes had
companions — sometimes had travelled by
myself: and, lastly, I was here now, alone,
and that was the most I knew. Oppress-
ed with a burden of grief almost insup-
portable, I had taken little note of exter-
nal objects. With a sort of instinct, I
had, day after day, pursiied my journey,
perfectly reckless of that life which to me
seemed more an aiHiction than a comfort.
I had been- surrounded by dangers at ell
times; I had been less cautious than pre-
viously in guarding against them; and yet
here I was — alive — in fair bodily health —
preserved how, and for what purpose, God
only knew.

It was near the close of August, and
the day was clear and cold. The sun,
some three hours advanced towards noon,
streamed over the scene his bright light,
but without much apparent warmth. The
north wind, sweeping down from the icy
peaks of the Wind River Mountains, loom-
ing up in rugged masses away to the left,
seemed to chill my very blood; and spur-
ring my noble horse onward, 1 dashed down
the long slope before me at a fast gallop.
\ A little after nightfall, I came to a ro-
mantic valley, shut in by hills, through
which a bright stream rolled, and foamed,
and murmured over its rocky bed. Here
I beheld the fires of two encampments.
The one nearest the bank of the river, was
evidently a party of emigrants; for by the
dim light, I could just trace the white out-
line of several covered wagons, and a few
dark, moving objects near them, which I
took to be their animals. I. could also see
a few figures flitting to and fro, some round
the fire-lights, and some more distant —
engaged, to all appearance, in preparing
the evening's repast, and settling them-
selves down for the night. The other en-
campment, separated from the first some
thirty or forty rods, consisted of only one
fire, around which were squatted a small

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

11

^ronp of motintaineers. To this I directed
my horse, and, on coming up, said:

** Gentlemen, will you permit a solitary
traveller to mess with you for the. nightl"

" Well, we won't do nothin else," re-
plied a voice, which I fancied was not un-
familiar to me.

Although this answer signified J wss
welcome to join them, yet not a man mo-
ved, nor appeared to notice me at all. This,
however, did not disconcert me in the least,
as I knew so well the morose, semi-social
hahits of the mountaineer, that, to gain a
grunt of assent to my request, was the ut-
W jmostj could expect. I therefore dismount-
ed, and approaching the fire, scrutinized
the faces of the party closely, as, rolling
out clouds of tobacco smoke, they remain-
ed fixed like posts in a circle, their eyes ap-
parently seeing nothing but the flames.
Judge of my astonishment, reader, on dis-
covering in this party of five, two of mv
old acquaintances — Black George and
Teddy O^Lagherty. My first impulse was
to spring forward, and make myself known
at once. But on second thought, I con-
cluded to remain incog., and see what
would be the result.

Removing the saddle and trappings from
my horse, I hobbled and left him to crop
the green grass of the valley. Then
drawing near the fire, I squatted myself
down in the ring, just far enough back to
have a shade upon my face. The trappers
were engaged in conversation of more
than ordinary interest, and appeared not
to notice me; while, for my own part, I
determined not to interrupt them.

" Think she'll hev to go under," obser-
ved Black George, with an ominous shake
of the head. " Thar's many places better
to be sick in nor this here."

" Ah, jabers! but it's har-r-d now, so it
is," rejoined Teddy, looking very solemn.
" Howly murther! but I wish mesilf a doc-
thor now — barring the physicing, that I
don't like at all, at all — if ounly to make
the face of that swaat crathur glad, by
tilling her I knows her mother's ailment.
Ochone! but she's the purtiest live one
I've saan since laving ould Ireland, where
I wish mesilf back agin. I could love
her, for Idoking so much likQ me young

musther, that's dead and gone, pace to bis
bones. Ochone! this is a sorry world,
so it is."

" H ow she looked, when she axed for a
doctor of me," observed another. " Ef
I hadn't left soon, I'd a done somethin
womanish, sartin."

" Aughl" grunted Black George, knock-
ing the ashes from his pipe; ^* sich sights
as them aint fit for us mountainers."

" Of whom are you speaking, friends]"
I now inquired, deeply interested.

" A beauthiful lady, sir, and her mother
as is sick," replied Teddy, turning toward
me an eager look.

I instantly shaded my face with my hand,
as if to keep ofi^ the heat, and saw I was
not recognized.

" And where is the lady you speak ofl"

"In the wagin, yonder. The ould lady
is sick, and they've not a spalpeen of a
docthor among 'em, and the young miss is
crying like she'd break her heart, poor
thing! For the matter of that, there's
two young females, now, that's crying —
but only one saams to be the daughther.
Maybe it's a docthor you is, now, by your
wee look and thinness?"

" I was educated to the profession, but
have never practised."

" Troth, it's no diflTerence-^-ye must go
an' sae the lady — for it's Heaven sint ye
here, I'm knowing mesilf.'^

" But, T — (I was on the point of speak-
ing his name) — but I have no medicine."

" Divil a bit diflference for that. Ye
must be afther saaing her, if ye's a docthor
— and can spaak the Latin names they
gives whin physic's short — if ounly to
comfort the young lady that's dying of
grief."

" Well, well, I will go," I said, finding
myself fully in for it, and my curiosity be-
ing a good deal excited, also, to see the
lady whom all agreed in describing as
beautiful.

"Ah! that's a good sowl ye is, now!"
said the warm, generous hearted Teddy,
who seemed as much interested for the
fair stranger as if she were his own sister.
" It's a good sowl ye is, now, to go and
sae her! Faith! ye^uts me in <mind of a
young masther I once had — ^voice and all

116

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

— ^barrin^ that he was a wee bit bether
looking nor you is."

" Indeed! And what was your master's
namer*

" Och! I had a pair of 'em. One was
Misther Huntly, a lawyer — and the other,
Misther Leighton, a docthor. It's the
docthor ye puts me in mind of now."

" Well, what became of them V ^

" Oh! sir," cried Teddy, wiping the tears
from his eyes, " they got killed, sir. The
divilish, murthering, baastly tiefs'of Injinf
killed and ate 'em. Ochone! ochone!^'
and he wrung his hands at the bare thought,
and sobbed for very grief.

" Why, you seem to take it to heart as
much as if they ^ere related to you."

" And so would you, an' ye'd a knowed
'em, sir. They was two sich s waat youths !
Perfict gintlemen, and jist from college, as
I heard 'em say raesilf, Ochone! but I'd
a died for 'em asy, and no questions axed,
an' they'd a towld me too."

" Leighton! Leighton!" repeated I, mu-
singly, as if trying to remember where I
had before heard the name. "Leighton!
fresh from college, ssy youl Was the one
you term doctor, from Boston!"-

" Ah, troth was he!" cried Teddy, jump-
ing up in excitement. «* Then ye know
him, sir, it may be, by your way of spak-
ing, jisti"

" I know enough of him," I answered,
now fully determined on putting Teddy's
friendship to the test.

" Arrah! sir, and what d'ye maan by
saying the likes of that, nowl"

" What do I mean] Why, my meaning
is very simple. I know that this fellow
you are so fond of lauding, is not a whit
better than I am."

" And I maan ye're a dirthy, spalpeen
blaggard— docthor or no docthor— jist for
spaking in that contimptible manner of
the finest gintleman as was iver saan, and
no exceptions made to your dirthy self,
that's not wort the snep of me finger! —
Whoop! ye blaggard! don't be grinning
that way at vour bethers — but jist come out
here like a man, ye cowardly tief ! and sae
what I'll taach ye! Whoop!"

Here the Irishman jumped up and crack-
ed his heels, and mad^ several warlike de-

monstrations with his fists, much to my
amusement and satisfaction. The trap-
pers, too, gathered themselves upon their
feet, in anticipation of a fight; and as
showed no disposition to reply to Teddy,
Black George turned his dark visage to
me, and said, gruffly:

" Come, young chap, you've got to chaw
them words you've jest put travellin, or
git licked afore you ken say beans."

" What have I said?' I replied, finding
the matter becoming serious, and pretend-
ing to exculpate myself. " T merely inti-
mated that Mr. Leighton was no better
than myself; and what more could I say,
when of course I think myself as good as
any bodyV*

** Yes, it's all very well, boy, for you to
talk," returned Black Georgre; "butheyar's
what knows a insult from a beaver, I reck-
ons; and ef you don't chaw them words
in less nor two minutes, and ow» up you
aint no equal to him you've spoke aginst,
I'll ram some fodder down your gullet you
wont swoller easy— ef I don't, I hope I
may be dogged for a dirty skunk all my
life;" and he ended by shaking his fist ra-
ther nearer my face than was agieeable.

"Yes, and now be taking thim back!"
roared Teddy, making preparations to
spring upon me, " or I'll turn ye inside
out, and shake ye as T used me masther's
carpet-bag, that's dead and gone — not the
bag, but the masther, ye blaggard, ye!"

I now found, that to restore myself to
the good graces of my friends, I should be
obliged to own myself a falsifier, or make
myself known. As I had fully tested their
friendship for my absent self, I chose the
latter.

" Gentlemen," I rejoined, mildly, " I can
prove every thing I have said; and even
you will acknowledge it, when I tell you
who I am. You behold before you, net
the calumniator of Francis Leighton, but
Francis Leighton himself, your old friend."

Had a bomb suddenly fallen and burst
at their feet, it could not have caused more
surprise and wonder with Teddy and Black
George, than did this simple declaration.

At first they both Hook a step or two
back, and then springing forward, each
caught me by an arm, and, ^awin^ m^

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

117

close to the fire, peered eagerly into my
face. One fall, penetrating glance eut-
ficed. I

" Him, by !*• cried Black George.

"Howly Mary!" shouted Teddy, throw-
ing his arms around my neck, and weep-
ing like a child. Then taking another
long look into my face, he sprang away,
and shouting, **Be howly St. Pathrick!
it's him— 'it's him! — me young masther's
alive!" he danced and capered around me,
with all the wild gestures of joyful in-
sanity — sometimes weeping, and some-
times laughing, and occasionally catching
hold of me, as if to assure himself of my
identity, and that it was no vision, no hal-
lucination of the brain.

Black George, meantime, pressed my
hand warmly, and said, in a voice slightly
tremulous with emotion:

'*Boy, I never reckoned seein you agin.
Thought you'd gone under— ^ru be dog-
gone ef I didn't! You fit well— I'll be
dogged ef you didn't! But whar d'ye float
to, and whar's your partner?"

Some half an hour was now spent in
questions and answers, during which I
learned that Fiery Ned and Rash Will had
both been killed at Bitter Cottonwood;
that Daring Tom had been severely wound-
ed, and shortly after left for the States,*
that Carson had escaped, and was at the
present time acting as guide to Fremont;
that Teddy had been on a trapping adven-^
tare with Black George and two or three
others; that, having recently made a trip
to St. Louis, they were now on their way
to the mountains; and t&at neither myself
nor Huntlyhad been heard from since that
eventful night^n consequence of which
they had supposed us kilted or made pri-
soners. In turn, I gave them a brief out-
line of my own adventures, up to the loss
of my friend, at which both expressed deep
sympathy, and Teddy wept freely.

" Spaking of Misther Huntly," said
Teddy at length, " puts me in mind that
you havn't yit saan the sick woman, your
honor."

** True, Teddy— I had forgot. Lead ,the
way!"

At the word, we quitted the trappers,
kiid set forward to the larger encampment,

where I found some six or eight heavy
covered wagons, arranged in a circle. In
the center of the area stood a group of
men, conversing in low tones, and glan-
cing occasionally at one of the vehicles,
around which several women were collect-
ed, the faces of all, as far as I could see,
expressive of deep sympathy and sorrow.
Close to the wagon, in which on a rude
bed the invalid was lying, were two young
females, apparently of the better class, one
of whom, clasping the thm hand of the
sick person, particularly arrested my at-
tention, by her display of violent grief.
The other appeared to be weeping also;
but the faces of both were from me, so
that I cotild only conjecture.

Taking the lead, Teddy forced his way
through the crowd, and lightly touching
the shoulder of the one who held the in-
valid's hand, said, in a gentle tone:

*» Here's a docthor, raarm."

The next moment I found myself the
cynosure of many eyes, while the one ad-
dressed, turning short round, gave one
glance, and uttering a fearful scream, sank
to the earth in a swoon. What tihis meant
I wa9 at a loss to comprehend; for her fea-
tures had been in the shade of the same
light which revealed mine to her. /

" Nervous excitement," I said to myself ^
"jeyat beholding a physician at hand;"^
and springing forward, I bent dow» to raise
her.

Already had my arms encircled ker slen-
der form— ^already was I on the point of
lifting her from the earth— when the light
of a torch flashed full on her pale counten-
ance. One look! one sudden start! one
exclamation of agonized wonder t and I
remained fixed, with eyes hatf starting
from their sockets — speechless — motion*
less — seemingly transformed to stone — my
arms encircling— merciful Heaven I— the
lovely form of-^Lilian HunilyS

118

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

CHAPTER XXVII.

INDESCRIBABLE FEELINGS — QUESTIONS FOR
THE METAPHTSICIAK—DIGKESSION— PAIN-
FUL AFFLICTIONS OF MY FEIEND'S FAMTLV
— WESTERN FEVER — CAUSES INDUCING
EMIGRATION — AN IMAGINARY CITY — A
MYSTERIOUS LADY AND DAUGHTER, ETC.

There are feelings that cannot be de-
scribed. There are emotions too deep for
utterance. There are times when the
mind has power to paralize the body.
When racking thought forces us to live
an age in a minute. When we see and
know all that is going on around us, and
yet seem to be separate from the world —
to exist in a world of ideality— *a sphritual
state. When our whole life, like a map,
seems laid before us, and we behold at a
single glance, in a second of time, what
has taken us years to enact. When, leap-
ing over the past and the present, we seem
to pierce the great veil of the future, and
behold our destiny.

May not this be a foretaste of death?
May we not so see, and feel, and know,
when thie spirit shall have become separa-
ted from its frail tenement of mortality?

I have said there u'e such feelings and
emotions; but they can only result from
the most powerful causes. Neither do
they effect all in the same manner. While
a few experience the sensations just des-
cribed, to others the same or similar caus-
es, may be productive of death, insanity,
or the death-like swoon of utter forgetfiil-
ness.

Of the former class, was I — of the lat-
ter, Lilian. The same emotions which
forced her to unconsciousness — paralized
my physical powers, and forced me to a
consciousness beyond the natural.

Bending over her — my eyes seemingly
glazed, and l^ed upon her sweet face, now
pale and death-like — I remained spell
bound — all my animal faculties suspended.
I heard a trampling of feet, as.several per-
sons hurried to our assistance. I heard
voices expressive of alarm and dismay-*
and, above all, the voice <>t' the invalid
calling Lilian by name. I was. conscious
ctjf beipig rjempved-rrof s^^eii^ tli^.i^ol of

my heart raised and borne away also, I
felt my limbs chafed by half a dozen hands,
and water dashed in my face. I saw thus,
felt thus, comprehended all — and yet my
mind was wandering far away to other
scenes.

H«ve we power to think of more than
one thing at the same time? I con-
tend that we nave — or els© that thought,
swift beyond comparison, sets before us
different scenes, with such rapidity, that
we seem to behold two at once— sometimes
half-a-dozen — and yet each, perhaps, as
opposite and distant, as the north and
south poles.

While I comprehended what was going
on around me, my mind flew back to youth
— to the time when I first felt a pas-
sion for Lilian —and traced every event of
my life, up to the present moment. Even
the dream — wherein I bad seen her bowed
down by poverty, and finally mvffdered by
my supposed rival — was not overlooked;
and it now recurred to me as a vision of
prophecy. Something fearful had happen-
ed, and I had been warned of it in my
sleep.

How is it that in our sleep events are
made known to us, that really ^are, or are
about taking place? Can it be that the
spirit then roams at will, in all the freedom
of disembodiment, and returns freighted
with intelligence to communicate to the
physical senses? Let the philosopher and
metaphysician answer! Enough for me
the efibct, without at present seeking the
cause.

And here, to keep my narrative straight
before the reader, let me digress one mo-
ment, to place him in possession of facts
which I gleaned afterwards — partly from
Lilian — partly, from her companions of the
journey.

It will be remembered, that in the open-
ing of this story, I mentioned my own
father, and the father of my friend, as being
wealthy merchants in the city of Boston.
Shortly after our. departure — ^it might be
on that very night of my singular dream —
news ef the failure of three large houses
in New York, gave Huntly the astounding
information that be was not worth a thou-
iaivtdQU«rs b.^ypndhis obUgatioos. Iiam

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

119

Tiot going to de&cribe his feelings, nor
those of his family, on finding themaelves
thus suddenly plunged from a state of un-
timited wealth to one ef <^omparative pov*
-erty. The effect upon the elder Hantly,
-Was to Tuin him in his own estimation for
life; and it soon became apparent to his
friends, that he would not long surviye the
-shock. All his energy, his ambition, went
with his property; and a cloud of melan-
cholly and grief settled over his once bright
•and joyous countenance. Several vSrm
hearted friends, among whom was my fath>
er, came forward and offered to assist him
— but all to no avail. He refused assis-
tance — declaring it the chastening hand
of God, to prepare him to depart to his
long home. Oppression of spirits brought
on physical debility, and the winds of the
succeeding autumn sung a dirge over his
grave.

A father and husband dead — a brother
and son away, perhaps dead also — made
the home of Lilian and her mother a house
^f mourning indeed; and what they suffbr-
ed for the next two years^ I must leave to
the imaginations of those who have felt a
similar visitation of the hand of Providence.

After paying the debts of the estate, a
remnant of property remained, to which a
few friends, on pretence they owed the de-
ceased for this favor or that, generously add-
ed more; so that, although comparitively
poor, they were in a measure above want.
They left, their fin^ mansion, to reside
in a small but pleasant house, owned by
my father, but for which he would receive
no rent. Here they remained for eighteen
months, laboring under a weight of afflic-
tion which those only can know who have
lost friends by death, been suddenly reduc-
ed from affluence to poverty, and seen tie
cold stinging look of scorn and contempt
upon the lips of these heartless beings
who were wont to play cHe fawning syco-
phant, and utter words of dattery and de-
ceit as worthless as themselves.
^ During the winter of 1841-42, much was
said concerning Oregon, and, as generally
happens wkh. every new place to which
public attention becomes particularly di-
j'^ctedyth^e were not lacking ezagerated
accounts, which,iej;if ff^tji as>Jth^ r^al ]^i

Dorado of the world. Whether th^se ow-
ed then: origin to the prolific brains of cer-
tain romantic editors, or to the more de-
sigBiBg ones of speculators, or to both
combined, (the most probable) matters not;
hat the effect was to set on foot a tide of
emigration, which, had it continued ,to the
present time, without check, would hava
made Oregon a populous country.

Among those who had caught this '^wes-
tern fever," as it is frequently not inap-
propriately termed, were a few wealthy
farmers in the vicinity of Boston, with one
family of whom Mrs. Huntly had an inti-
mate acquaintance. Being on a visit there
in the winter, she soon learned, much to
her sQtprise, that they were already mak-
ing preparations to start, on the opening of
spring, for this great El Dorado— this Ul'
tima Thvh of western emigration. Sever-
al of their acquaintances were going to
join them, and, above all, an ^ccentrjp la-
dy of wealth and refinement, who, with
her beautiful da^ighter, had for the past
year been the lioness and belle of the aris-
tocratic and fashionable circles of Boston.
Of this lady — who was known as Madame
Mortimer, as also her daughter, who had
received the sobriquet of Belle Eva, the
latter- l>eing her Christian name — Mr£.
Huntly had more than once heard; and it
was with no little surprise, as may readiiy
be imagined, she now learned of her de-
termination to venture upon such a long,
tedious, and dangerous journey; and she
mentally 4uud, *< When such a personage
resolves to leave all the allurements of
civilization, there must be something worth
going for;" and thi^, probably, proved one
of the strongest arguments to induce her
to maJce one of the party herself. In ad-
dition to this, her country friends were en-
thusiastic on the subject of Oregon, of
which they had received the most glowing,
and of course exagerated accounts, and
were eager in urging her to join them.
Oregon City, a name which sounded well
to the ear, was to be their destination. O
this they already had mafs, whereon the
beatttifui streets and squares looked very
enticing. Here each and all were to make
their fortunes; and in the visionary ez-
cit^aat^of the moment, they overlook;^.

ISO

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

the sober fact, that Oregon City then ex-
isted on the map only, drawn np by some
speculator, and that its handsqme streets
and squares, were simply imaginary loca-
tions in an utter wilderness.

But why prolong*— why enter into de-
tail of the hundred little causes whicl^,
combined, decided Mrs. Huntly (a lady
whose main faults were an enthusiastic
love of new projects, an overweening con-
fidence in her own judgment, and a wilful
adherence toN her own decisions, right or
wrong,) in joining this ill-timed expedition,
contrary to the advice of her friends and
of Lilian — the latter of whom consented
to accompany her that she might not be
separated from her only parent. Enough,
that she had so decided; and tiiat early in
the spring succeeding, having disposed of
all her effects, she and Lilian, in company
with Madame and Eva Mortimer, (whom
th^ fashionable world of course considered
insane) and some eight or ten families,
had set out on their long journey to the
far, Far West.

And here apropos Of Madame Mortimer
and her lovely daughter, of whom mach
remains to be said at no distant period.
Although they had appeared in the fashion-
able circles of Boston, reputed wealthy,
nothing of their private history was known;
and of course, as regarded them, curiosity
was excited to a great degree, but without
avail. They had been met among the ben
ton of New York, and invited to Boston.
They had accepted the invitation, had pass-
ed the ordeal of fashionable criticism, had
c^ducted themselves on all occasions
with strict propriety, and had departed,
right in the face of all the gossips, without
a single one being the wiser for his or her
inquiries.

As to who and what they were, and how
connected with the foregoing and succeed-
ing events of this life-history, the reader
who continues to the end of the narrative,
will doubtless be enlightened.

It is needless for me to touch upon the
journey of my friends westward. Like all
emigrants who seek Oregon for a home,
they had experienced severe trials and vi-
cissitudes, which upon tllem had fallen the

ships they had ever known. Some three
or four days previous to my joining them,
Mrs. Huntly had been taken sick; and al-
though Lilian had been greatly alai^med
from the first, yet with the others the mat-
ter had not been thought serious, until the
evening in question, when her symptoms
had taken an unfavourable turn. Having
no doctor among them, application for one
had been made by Lilian to some of the
trappers — who chanced to bA passing —
ai^ this, providentially, had brought us
once more together, after the long and
eventful separation of more than two
years*

Having now, reader, put you in posses-
sion of facts important for you to know, I
will return from my digression, and go on
with my narrative.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

RECOVER FROM MT PARALYSIS — THE IHVA-
LID— CAUSE OF ILLIIESS — ^REMEDT — EAF-
FT RESULTS — ^JOT OF LILIAN — AH EVA-
SION — FAMILIAR FACES — 8TRAN0E MEET-
ING — REFLECTIONS.

It was several minutes before I recover-
ed from my paralysis, and this was doubt-
less much accelerated by Teddy, who, hav-
ing tried viuious ways to restore me, at
last threw his arms around my neck, and
placing his month close to ray ear, shout-
ed:

" I say, your honor, is it dead ye is, now
—or is it dead ye's jist agoing to be— -by
the way ye's stare so, and says nothing at
all, at alii"

With a start, as if suddenly awakened
from a dream, I looked around me, per-
ceived myself the centeif of all eyes, and
heard my name several times pronounced,
coupled with that of Lilian ^ as here and
there one, who had gained the secret of
our strange behavior, sought to explain it
to others. To most, my name was already
familiar, as the companion of young Hunt-
ly, and son of the wealthy Leighton of

Boston — and this, probably, had no ten-
jnore heavily, from being the first hard- ' denoy to lessen curiosity.

OR, ADVEiYTlTRES IN THE FAR WEST.

121

My first feeling on regaining myself,
(if ) may bo express it) was one of con-
fusion, that I had so publicly laid myself
open to gossip; my second, indignation at
being so stared at; my third, alarm as to
what might be the effect of all this upon
Mrs. Huntly; and to her I immediately
turned, without a word to the others. Per-
haps the reader, if a lover, is surpriijed
that my first alarm was not for Lilian. —
Ay! but, dear sir, I saw at a glance that
Lilian was in good bands, and in a fair
way of recovery, and it would have been
injudicious, at that moment, to draw any
more attention to her.

Mrs. Huntly I found lying upon a fea-
ther bed, in a large, covered wagon, under-
neath which was attached a furnace for
warming it; so that, all things considered,
the patient was more comfortably situated
than I had expected to find her.

In appearance, she had altered much
since I last saw her. Her naturally rather
florid complexion, and full, round face, had
given place to pallor and thinness, and
here and there I could trace deep lines of
care; but I failed to note a single symp-
tom portending immediate danger. Grief,
fatigus of travel, and many anxieties of
mind, together with a touch of influenza,
had brought oh a splenetif affection, tome-
thing like what is vulgarly termed " hypo."
She had fancied herself very ill, and in
fact nigh unto death; and I saw at once,
that could she be persuaded the crisis had
passed, and that the danger was over, she
would speedily recover — and upon this I
acted with decision. The cause of her
grief and of her being here, I did not
thenknow — for the information which I
have givea the reader on the subject, was
not obtained till afterwards— and I saw it
would not do to question her. It was
necessary I should appear cheerful, wheth-
er I felt flo or not; and accordingly I ap-
proached her with a smile* Instantly her
eye brightened as it met mme, and I per-
ceived, to my great satisfilction, that the
alarm occasioned by the swoon of Lilian,
had proved benefioial» in. drawing her
thoughts firomherself to another, and arous-
ing all herdonnant faculties. Extandingher
hand ts I approached, she said, with a sigh:

** Ah ! Francis, I never thought we should
meet thus.*'

*• True,". I replied, " I had thought to
meet y'ou under other circumstances —
though I presume all has ha)>pened for the
best."
• " You find me very low, do you not!"

"You have been ill," I answered, empha-
sising the word have; *• but everything
I see has turned in your favor."

"How!" she exclaimed, quickly, raising
her head, and fixing her eyes intently upon
mine; " would you imply that I am not in
a dangerous conditioni"

" I would not only imply it," I rejoined,
with energy, pretending to judge by her
pulse, " but I will assert it, as an indispu-
table fact. If in a week from this you
are not as well as you ever were in your
life, I win give you leave to call me an
im poster."

' " Really, Francis, you surprise me !" she
said, with animation. " In fact, I believe
I do feel better. But I haw been sick—
you admit thati"

" O, most certainly," I said, rejoiced to
perceive the beneficial effects of my. men--
tal prescription. " You have been very
sick, and within an hour have been nigh
unto death; but, thank God! the crisis
has passed, and you have nothing to do
now but recover as fast as possible."

" But what is, or has been, my ailment?"'

Here I remembered the suggestion of
Teddy, and quickly mumbled over a long
string of Latin names, with scientific ex-
planations, much to the satisfaction of
every body, but myself. The spectators,
who had crowded around to hear what I
had to say.-— being, with but two or three
exceptions, good honest farmers and farm--
ers' wives— nodded approvals to each other,
and gave me many a respectful glance,,
equivalent to tilling me, .that my first case,
without a single dose, had, with them, es-
tablished my reputation as a skillful physi-
cian. O, the humbug of big sounding
words! I would, advise doctors and law-
yers, to use them on all occasions.

News of my decision, regarding the pa-
tient, flew rapidly fronl one to anotfaer-*<*
lighting eadi countenance, before gloomy,
with a smile of pleMurenMuitil it reached i

THE PEAIRIE FLOWER;

122

the ear of Lilian, who, just recovering
from the effects of her swoon, uitered a
cry of joy, and, much to the Bux^ise and
satisfaction of those engaged in restoring
her, suddenly sprang away from them and
rushed to her mother.

« O, mother," she cried, " I have heard
such good tidings!"

« All true, every word," returned her
mother, gaily. " My physician has pro-
nounced me out of danger;" and she
playfully pointed to me.

"God be praised!" cried Lilian, fervent-
ly. " What a miracle is this! and how it
relieves my anguished heart!"

Then turning upon me her sweet, pale,
lovelv countenance— her full, soft blue
eyes,' moist with tears- she partly extend-
ed her hand, and gasped my name.

The next instant, regardless of the time,
place, and the presence of others, she was
clasped in my arms, strained to my heav-
ing breast, and my lips were pressed to
hers in the holy kiss of mutual love. It
was a blissful moment, notwithstanding
all we had both suffered. But it was a
moment only; for the next she sprang

nodding his head, « Fm dumb as a dead

nager, I is."

This caution was not made any too soon;
for the next moment Mrs. Huntly exclaim-

ed < 1.

" But, Francis, where is my son— where

is Charles— that he does not make his ap-
pearance]"

« O, yes, my brother]" cried Lilian.

I was suddenly seized with a serious fit
of coughing, so as to gain time for a re-
ply. It would not do to let them know
the true state of the case, and I could not
think of telling them a falsehood. , A hap-
py thought struck me, and I answered:

" Charles is not with me."

"Indeed! Where is he, theni" cried

both in a breath.

« We parted in California; I left him -
going eastward; and, for what I know, he
may be now in Boston."

« God help hinx, then, when he hears
the awful news, and finds himself home-
less and friendless, poor boy!" cried Mrs.
Huntly, with a burst of grief, in which

Lilian joined.

I now inquired what had happened, and
moment only; for the next she ^P^*"^ iga^^ned, in the course of conversation,
aWay, Mushing and abashed at what ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ j ^^^^ ^^^^^^ gl^^n

she doubtless considered her own '^^^^" j ^j^g^e^^^r.
ness.

« You're a Wonderful docthor, your hon-
or," whispered Teddy in my ear. " Faith!
ye jist looks at 'em, and jabbers a few La-
thin names, and they're betther'n they iver

« Poor Charles!" I sighed to myself, it
is well if thou art dead. Better be dead,
than return to thy once happy home, only
to find thy friends gone and thyself a beg-

thin names, and they're betther'n they iver , ^ ^

was— afore they've time to know what ail- p ^ith Lilian and her mother, m their
ed 'em, ji8t---*nd, trothl a hogging ye at misfortunes, I sympathised deeply; -but
fh^f tnn. the nurtiest one among 'em. f^arinff these saddening thoughts might

that, too, the purtiest one among 'em
Is it knowing thim ye is— or does the likes
«f her ki^s by raason of yees being a doc-
thorl Jabers! it's what I'd like done to
mesilf, now, in any perfishion."

fearing these saddening thoughts might
prove injurious to Mrs. Huntly, I hastened
to console her by saying:

« We should bear in mind that all are
,born to die; that riches are unstable; and

esilf, now, in any pernsmon." ^orn to die; tnai riciieo axe ^xi=>v«».w, ~-

"Hush! Teddy. These are the sister L^^^^ whatever happens, is always for the
and mother of my lost friend." \ best, though we be not able to see it at the

« Howly St. Pathrick in thfe morning!

^— V • 1 in _ 1 a. 4_A. - — —

ye don't say!" exclaimed Teddy, Stagger-
ing back with surprise.

« Hush!" I whispered in his ear, catch-
ing feim by the arm, with a grip sufficient
to impress the importance of my words.
« Not'a syllable concerning Huntly; as Jrou
value your life!"

«Oc1i!" returned Teddy, placing Ms
.. 1. »»«. t» _■ I

*"^'%hat I believe to b6 the true philoso-
phy of life," said a middle aged lady at my
Bide, whom, with her daughter, a meet
companion for Lilian, I had more than
once noticed, as possesBing superior ac-
complishments; but under the excitemeht
I was laboring, I had failed to closely scan
the features of either. I now turned «

«Oc1i!" returned Teday, piacmg ms ^ttie leaiures ui ciui.^.. * — -
fittger tb his lips, wiaking his eye, and once to the speaker, and was immcdiAteiy

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

123

introduced, by Lilian, to Madame Morti-
mer, and her daughter Eva.

" Strange!" I said to myself, as, bowing
to each, I became struck with the famili-
arity of their features. " I have seen
these faces before, methinks — bat wherp
I cannot tell."

The name, however, perplexed me — for
I had no remembrance of ever before be-
ing introduced to a Mortimer.

" Your countenance seems familiar," I
said, addressing the elder lady.

"And so does yours, sir!" she replied;
" and for the last half hour, I have been
trying to recall where I have seen you —
but in^ain."

Suddenly the whole truth flashed upon
me.

" Were you not in New York with your
daughter, some two years since T" I in-
quired, eagerly.

« I was."

" At the National Theatre, on the night
it was burnedl"

"I was."

** Did not some one rescue your daugh-
ter from the flamesi"

" Good heavens! yes! I remember now
— I remember!" she exclaimed, a good
deal agitated. "It was you, sir — ^you! I
thought I knew thole features!" and exci-
ted by powerful emotions, she seized both
my hands in hers, and pressing thsm warm-
ly, uttered a " God bless you!" while her
eyes filled with tears of gratitude. Eva
was too much affected to trust her voice
in the utterance of a single word — but her
look spoke volumes.

What a strange combination of startling
events had this night revealed to me! How
mysteriously had Providence arranged and
put them together for some great design!
Who could have imagined that the mere
act of saving a fellow-creature's life — a
stranger at that, in a strange city — and
leaving her without knowing her name, or
even her residence, for a long journey of
many thousand miles — was to have a di-
rect bearing upon my future destiny, and
that of my friend? Yet such was the fact;
and however unimportant the incident
might have appeared at the time to
the reader — however irrelative to the main

Btory — ^yet on that very circumstance, un-
known to any, was depending many of the
important events which followed those al-
ready described, and which in due time
will be given.

It was with sensations peculiar to each,
that these matters were narrated and com-
mented upon for the next two hours; and
doubtless not one, who heard the strange
and romantic storr of how I saved the life
of Eva Mortimer, but felt his most trivial
act to result from the hidden design of a
Higher Power. As for myself, such
chaosof ideas crowded my brain, as made it
imposssible for me to describe what I
thought, or what feeling had the prepon-
derance, unless it were a mingling of plea-
sure and sadness. But one thing seemed
wanting to make me joyful; and that, alas!
was my friend. Had he been present, not-
withstanding all adverse circumstances,
my heart would have bounded with rapture.
And he! what would have been his feel-
ings, thus to have met, in propria personcR,
the idol of his dreams ! — thus to have been
placed tete-a-tete with Eva Mortimer — ^the
beautiful unknown!

CHAPTER XXIX.

STANDING SENTINEL — DROWSINESS — INTER-
RUPTION SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF PRAI-
RIE FLOWER — HER WARNING, SURPRISE,
AGITATION AND ABRUPT DEPARTURE —
ALARM THE CAMP — HOSTILE PREPARA-
TIONS — ATTACK — REPULSE — VICTORY —
ARRLVAL IN OREGON — CONCLUSION.

It was late in the night, and all had be-
come still in the encampment. The ani-
mals — consisting of mules, horses, oxen
and cows — had been driven together and
tethered, and were taking their repose. In
the area, formed by the wagons, two fires
were burning, at one of which sat Tedcly
and myself, half dozing, with our rifles
resting against our shoulders. We had
volunteered our services as sentinels for
the night^-but our watch could hardly be
termed vigilant. In the surrounding vehi-
cles, the emigrants were already giving
evidence of that sound sleep which indi-

124

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

cates health and wearinoM, and a ceaia-
tion of the physical and mental faculties.
I was, as I said before, in a half dozing
state. I had been conning oyer the many
singular pranks of fortune connected with
myself, and particularly the wonderful rev-
elations of the last six or eight hours> I
had been musing upon the complicated
web of man's existence, and already had
my thoughts began to wander as in a
dream.

A rumbling sound, like the roaring of a
distant waterfall, caught my ear. Gradu-
ally it grew louder and nearer, until I fan-
cied 1 could detect the pattering of a horse's
feet upon the hard earth. Nearer and
nearer it came, and I found my impression
confirmed. It was a horse at full speed
— but what could it meani Suddenly Ted-
dy sprang up, and tightly grasped his rifle.
We now both darted outside the circle of
wagons. By the dim light, we beheld a
horse and rider rapidly dashing up the
valley. The next moment the beast was
reined in to a dead halt, some twenty yards
distant.

" Who goes there!" I cried.

** A friend,'* was the answer, in a clear,
silvery voice. '* Be on your guard, or you
m\\ be surprised by Indians!"

Heavens! I should know those tones!
Could it be possiblel

" Prairie Flower!" I called.

" Ha! who are you?" was the answer;
and the next moment the coal black pony,
and his beautiful, mysterious rider, stood
by my side.

** Prairie Flower! and do we indeed meet
again?"

" Who areyAU?" said she, bending down
to scrutinize my features. ** Ha! is it in-
deed possible!" she continued, with no lit-
tle agitation, as she recognized me. "How
you have altered! I — I— -but I have no time
to talk. must not be seen here. It
would cost me my life. I may see you
again. Be on your guard! How strange!
I never thought to see you again. I must
go!"

These sentences were uttered rapidly,
almost incoherently, while the voice of the
speaker trembled, and there seemed a wild-

tightened her rein a to depart — ^but
still lingered, as if to add something more.

" Heaven bless you, Prairie Flower! you
are always seeking the good of others."

She sighed, turned her head away, and
strove to say, carelessly:

« Your friend— I— I— is well— » hel"

*' Alas! I cannot answer."^

*<Ha! what! how!" she cried, <|uickly,
turning full upon me and grasping my arm,
which chanced to be resting on the neck
of her pony. " Explain!" and I felt her
grasp tighten.

I hurriedly narrated our last parting.

For some moments she did not reply,
while her whole frame trembled violently.
At length she withdrew her hand, tighten-
ed the rein again, and gasped the single
word,

** Farewell!"

Ere I had time for another syllable, her
horse was speeding away like the wind; and
ere I had recovered from my surprise, both
were lost in the darkness.

So sudden had all this happened, that
I felt completely bewildered. Was I
dreaming? A word irom Teddy aroused
me. Despatching him to the trappers, to
ask their assistance, I flew back to the
larger encampment and gave the alarm.
Instantly the whole camp was in commo-
tion; and amid the screams of women and
children, the men grasped their arms, and
sprung from their coverts, excited and pale,
but ready to meet danger without flinching,
in defence of those whose lives they prized
above their own.

I hurried round the camp, to quiet the
fears of the weaker members, by telling
them there was little or no danger — that
the Indians, if they came at all, finding us
ready to receive them, would not risk an
attack. In this, much to my surprise, I
was shortly aided by Lilian and Eva, both
of whom displayed a heroic coolness, and
presence of mind, and fearlessness of dan-
ger, for which, among all the virtues I had
allowed them, I had given them no credit
whatever. Had I been required, before this
event, to select the most timid of the par-
ty, I should have pointed them out first.
Modest, unassuming, Retiring in their man-

^

ness in her manner. On concluding, #he | ners, weak in physical powers, unused to

OR, ADVENTURES W THE FAR WEST.,

125

hardships and dangers, with a superior re-
finement in thougrht and feeling — I had
supposed them the first to shrink at any
alarm. Judge of my astonishment, then,
when I saw them gliding over the
earth, as over a soft carpet, and, with
scarcely an appearance of fear, by their
acts and language, shaming the more
frightened to silence. The arrival of the
trappers, too— well armed-^and their seem-
ing indifference to danger, reassured all in
a measure, and served to restore order
and quiet.

Hastily organizing, we marched outside
the wagons, and took up our position so as
to watch and guard any point of compass,
not knowing at which the foe might make
his appearance and onset

All relapsed into silence, in which man-
ner an hour was passed, and we were be-
ginning to think the alarm false, 'when one
of the men espied a dark object, as he fan-
cied, slowly nearing him.

Without a second thought, crack went
his rifle, and instantly, as if by magic, a
dark spot to the north of us became peo-
pled by some fifty savages, who, finding
themselves discovered, and doubtless think-
ing this the alarm of the sentinel, uttered
frightful yells, and sprang forward in a
body. Rushing to the point of attack, we
hastily formed a line, and placing our rifles
to our shoulders, silently waited until not
more than twenty yards divided us from
the main body of our enemies.

" Fire!" cried a voice; and instantly a
dozen rifles poured their deadly contents
among the dusky horde, ^th good effect,
as could be told by several frightful groans
of pain.

This was a reception the savages had
not counted on, and they in turn became
alarmed. Suddenly pausing, they uttered
yells of dismay, and discharging their
pieces at random, the balls of which whis»
tied past us without a single injury, they
turned and fled precipitately. The victory
was ours, and to Prairie Flower we owed
our lives. The remainder of the night
we kept to our arms, but were not again
disturbed, and by sunrise the whole party
was on the move up the mountain.

Ab J could opt think of parting with my

friends (above all with Lilian) in the
wilderness, I resolved to accompany them
to their destination^ and then to— to— I
scarcely knew what. Teddy of course
went with me, and the trappers, out of
fhendehip, bore us company many days.

1 shall not weary you, reader, with a de-
tail! of all the little incidents of our tedious
progress to Oregon City. Suffice, that it
was such as ail emigrants experience in a
greater or less degree, and was attended
with a succession of scenes similar to
those described throughout these pages.
As I had predicted, the health of Mrs.
Huntly was gradually restored; and within
ten days from the commencement of her
convalescence, she declared herself as
well as at any period of her life, and that
the word of her youn|^ doctor, as she jo-
kingly termed me, wa» equal in effect to
the combined virtues of the whole materia
medica.

The return of Mrs. Huntly's strength
and spirits, brought pleasure to ihe eye and
bloom to the cheek of Lilian, which my
daily presence, as I was vain enough to
flatter myself, did not tend to dissipate.
Be that as it may, (and I leave the reader
to judge) this long journey, so full of
hardship and peril, however unpleasant
it might have proved to her and to others,
I must ever look back to with pleasure,
as one of the happiest periods of my so far
eventful life.

Crossing the Rocky ikouBtains nt the
well known South Pass, we continued onr
the regular Oregon routes-massed Fort
Hall — ^went down the Snake river and over
the Salmon Mountains to Fort Boise— ^
through the country of Shoshones, or Snake
Indians, over the Blue Mountains to Fort
Walla Walla, on the Columbia— down the
Columbia, over the Cascade Range, to Or^
egon City, on the pleasant little Willa-
mettowwhere we all safely arrived about
the middle of December.

At this period, as I before remarked,
Oregon City existed only in name— being,
with the exception of a few log houses,
(erected during the summer and fall pre*
vious, by a few emigrants who had reached
here in advance of our party,) a complete
wildeniMs, The appearance of the place ,

126

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

BO different from what they had expected
to find it, disheartened my worthy friends
not a little; and had such a thing then been
possible, 1 believe they would at once have
returned to their native land. But this
was out of the question; there was no help
for their oversight now, only by making
th'B best of a bad bargain; and so, after
having grumbled to their hearts' content —
wished Oregon for the thousandth time at
the bottom of the sea, and themselves back
home as many — they set to work in earn-
est, to provide themselves homes for the
winter, \ declaring that spring should see
them on their way to the States.

With proper energy, properly directed,
a great deal may be accomplished in a very
short time; and in less than two weeks
from their earnest commencement, no less
than eight or ten cabins were added to the
few already there. Into these the differ-
ent families removed, Teddy and I taking
up our abode in that appropriated to Mrs.
Huntly.

Although without any effects save such
as had been brought with them, and short
of provisions also, yet, by one means and
another, all managed to get through the
winter as comfortably as could be efecpect-
ed; and instead of preparing to return,
spring found the majority of the new set-
tlers entering lands, determined on making
this their future residence, be the conse-
quences what they might.

Some three or four, among whom was
Madame Mortimer and her daughter, were
still disaffected, and would gladly have re-
traced their steps; but they could not find
companions enough to make the journey
safe, and therefore, against their will, were
forced to remain.

Oregon City I found beautifully located
on the eastern bank of the Willamette,
and, from what I could judge, destined, at
no very distant period, to become the great
mart of the Par West. Here I remained
through the winter, and as it proved open
and mild, employed my time in hunting and
fishing, and conversing with the only be-
ing I truly loved. Had my friend been
with me, I should have looked upon the
place as a perfect paradise; but thoughts
of him — of what might be his fate— would

steal over me in my most joyous moments,
and cloud my brow with gloom. These
singular changes were noted by Lilian and
others with feelings of surprise, and fre-
quently was I questioned by the former re-
garding them — ^but I ever avoided a direct
answer.

Neither Lilian nor her mother knew the
true cause of Charles Huntly 's absence; and
though I often meditated telling them, yet,
when it came to the point, I ever shrunk
from the painful task of making both wretch-
ed. He might be living; and the bare pos-
sibility of such a thing, I thought sufficient
to justify me in keeping them in blissful
ignorance of what I supposed to be his real
fate. Both fondly anticipat3d seeing him
the coming summer — not doubting he had
gone east, and that so soon as he should
receive tidings of their locality, he would
set out to join them. I had no such hopes
— but I dared not tell them so.

Tt was a lovely day in the spring of 1843.
On the banks of the romantic Willamette,
under the shade of a large tree, I was seat-
ed. By my side — with her sweet face
averted and crimson with blushes, her right
hand clasped in mine, her left unconscious-
ly toying with a beautiful flower, which
failed to rival her own fair self — sat Lilian
Huntly. It was one of those peculiar mo-
ments which are distinctly remembered
through life. I had just offered her my
hand and fortune, and was waiting, with
all the trembling impatience of a lover, to
hear the result.

"Say, Lilian — sweet Lilian! will you
be mine]"

Her lily hand trembled — I felt its velvet-
like pressure — but her tongue had lost the
power of utterence. It was enough; and
the next moment she was strained to ray
heart, with a joy too deep for words.

** And when shall it be — when shall my
happiness be consummated, dear LilianV
I at length ventured to ask.

For a time she did not reply; then rais-
ing her angelic face, and fastening her
soft beaming eye, moist with tears of joy,

. OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

127

^

upon mine, she said, in a low, sweet, trem-
ulous tone:

" On the day when we are aU made glad
by the presence efmy hrotlier.'*^

« Alas!" groaned I, mentally, "that day
may never come!"

The fate of Charles Huntly— of the mys-
terious Prairie Flower and others — will be
given in the Sequel to these Adventures
iw THE Fab West.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

As almost every one who takes any in-
terest in a book, has some desire or curi-
osity to know how or why it came to be
written, and as there are some things of
which he desires to speak particularly, the
author, compiler, or editor of Prairie^Flow-
er, (whichever you please, reader,) has, af-
ter due consideration, decided on giving
the information alluded to, in a note to
the present volume. While engaged in
putting the finishing touches upon " Kate
Clarendon,"* a tall, dark-visaged, keen-
eyed individual entered his sanctum, ear-
ly one morning, bearing in his hand a
bundle of no inferior size. Having stared
around the apartment, as if to assure him-
self there was no mistake, he coolly took
the only remainincr seat, when the follow-
ing conversation occurred.

Stranger. — Mr. Scribblepen, I pre-
sume?

Author. — My name, sir!

Stranger. — He-e-m! (A pause.) Write
novels, presume, Mr. Scribblepen]

Author. — When I have nothing better
to do.

Stranger. — (After a little reflection.)
Found them on fact, eh?

Author. — Sometimes, and sometimes
draw rather freely on the imagination, as
the case may be.

Stranger. — How would you like the

* A Tale of the Little Miami, recently iesued
in a very neat cheap form by Strattton & Bar-
nard, Cincinnati.

idea of writing one that should contain

NOTHING BUT TAGTI

Author. — (Becoming interested and
laying down his pen.) Have no objec-
tions, provided there is fact enough, and
of a nature sufficiently exciting to make
the story interesting to the general reader.
Stranger. — (Smiling complacently, and
tapping his bundle.) Got the documents
here, and no mistake. Every word true,
I pledge you my honor. Promise to work
them uj) faithfully, and they are at your
service.

Author. — (In doubt.) But how am I to
know they contain owZy facts?

Stranger. — You have my word, sir!

Author. — Did you write them? Do
they comprise a journal of your own ad-
ventures?

Stranger. — (A little testily.) No
matter about either! They contain noth-
ing but facts, and that is enough for any
reasonable man to know.

Author. — But how am I to know this?
You must remember you are a stranger to
me, sir!

Stranger. — (Coloring, and carelessly
placing his hand upon the breech of a pis-
tol, barely seen protruding from beneath
his waistcoat.) I allow no one to doubt
my word, sir!

Author. — (A little nervous, and not
caring to doubt such poioerfuL testimony.)
O! ah! I see — it is all right, of course.

Stranger. — (Again smiling pleasant-
ly.) So you will undertake the job, Mr.
Scribblepen, and give facts in every thing
but the most important names?

Author. — I will try.

Stranger. — (Placing the package upon
the table and rising as if to go.) You can
hare them, then. All I ask is, that you
will be a faithful chronicler. The names
I wish changed, you will find marked. I
have a desire to see the whole in print,
and you may take all the profit and what-
ever credit you please, so you keep fact in
view. The incidents are romantic, and
Bufliciently exciting for your purpose, with-
out embellishment. I shall keep an eye
upon the publication, and you may see
me again, or you may not; I make no pro-
mises. Good morning, sir!

I

328

THE PRAIRIE FLOWER;

Author. — (Rising to bow him out.)
But your name, stranger, if you pleasel

Strahger. — (Hesitating.) I am called
the Wanderer. Good morning, Mr. Scrib-
blepen!

Author. — Good morning, Mr. Wander-
er! (Returns to the mysterious package,
opens, examines it, begins to read, gets
interested, and goes to bed the night fol-
lowing minus dinner and supper.)

Having shown you how he became pos-
sessed of the facts of the story, the author
would say a few words more and close. —
As regards the characters set forth in the
preceding pages, he would state, that, he-
ing all real, some represent a class, and
some an individual only. Prairie Flower
is of the latter, and is drawn from real life.
That the proceedings of herself and tribe
may appear mysterious, and, to some, at
first thought, (her locality and every thing
considered) out of place — the author does
not doubt; but he believes that no one
who is conversant with Indian history, and
especially with that relating to the North-
western Tribes and the Moravian Missions,
during the early settlement of Ohio, will
find in this character or her tribe any thing
that may be termed overstrained or un-
natural. That she is a marked character,
distinct and peculiar, and liable to be mis-
construed by those who do not take every
<4iing iota consideration, but allow a first

fancy to have full »way — ^he admits; birt
at the same time would desire such to
withhold an expression of opinion,, until
they shall have read to the end, when he
trusts they will find the explanation satis-
factory.

It was the intention of the writer of the
foregoing, at the commencement, to short-
en the materials on hand, so as as to em-
body the whole in a single volume; but
when he had accumn Fated some two hun-
dred manuscript pages, he found, much to
his regret, that this could not be done,
without striking out some of the best
scenes, and otherwise materially impairing
the work; and as he feared both his mys-
terious friend and the reader would not be
fully satisfied, he at last decided on giving
the whole, by adding a Sequel, which in re-
ality is only a second part of the volume
in hand. In the Sequel to this, the same
characters already introduced will be con-
tinued, together with others, and the whole
be terminated by a grand deruyuement.

With these remarks, and the einiple
statement that the reader may look upon
the scenes described as real, the author
would take his respectful leave for the
present, hoping the reader may find, if no-
thing else of interest, information regard-
ing life in the Far West, sufiicient to.r£-
pay a perusal.

Cihcinhati, Jan^, 1849.

THE END..

LENI-LEOTI;

OR,

ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

BY EHEBSON BENNETT.

at7th0& of th« << bavdits of the osage," "the eekeoade," "mike fihk," "kate

clasehdoh/' etc., etc.

But O, the blooming prairie,
Here are Grod^s floral bowers,

Of all that he hath made on earth
The love iest. • ♦ •

This is the Almighty ^s garden,

And the mountains, stars, and sea,

Are naught compared in beauty.
With uod's Grarden prairie free.

PUBLISHED BY

STRATTON & BARNARD.

CINCINNATI & ST. LOUIS.

PRINTED AT "THE GREAT WEST" OFFICE.

1849.

I

Entered, according to act of Congreae, in the year 1849,

BT E. FBNROSE JONES,

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for tiie District of Ohio.

LENI-LEOTI.

CHAPTER I.

STILL IN OREGON CITT — THE SECRET UNDI-
VULGED — A DILEMMA — RESOLVE TO MAKE
IT KNOWN — A STROLL — ^INTERRUPTION —
EVA MORTIMER — ^BRIEF ACCOUNT OF- THE
MORTIMERS — RESOLVE TO GO IN SEARCH
OF MY FRIEND.

It was the last day of May, in the year
of our Lord, 1843. Already the earth felt
the genial air of summer, and looked as
smiling as a gay maiden in her teens. The
blade had covered the ground with a car-
pet of matchless green, amid which, their
lovely faces half concealed, bright flowers
of a hundred varieties peeped modestly
forth to render the landscape enchanting,
giving their sweet breath to a southern
breeze that softly stole over them. The
trees in every direction were in full foliage,
and already among them could, be seen
green bunches of embryo fruits. It was
in fact a delightful day, a delightful season
of the year, and a delightful scene upon
which I gazed, with feelings, alas! that
had more in them of sadness than joy.

I was still in Oregon City; but two
months had flown since on the banks
of the romantic Willamette I offered my
hand, heart and fortune to Lilian Huntly,
and was accepted, only to find the nuptial
day prolonged to an indefinite period — the

return of ray friend and her brother. I
did not describe my feelings then to the
reader; but, as he or she must have im-
agined, they were very painful. I had de-
ceived Lilian and her mother 1 knew, in
leading them to hope, even, for the return
of Charles Huntly, and I felt stung to the
very soul as one guilty of a crime. What
was I to do? Should I avow all to Lilian
and make her wretched by destroying all
hope of ever seeing Charles again? or
should I still let her remain in blissful ig-
norance of his fate, and look in vain to
the future for the consummation of her ar-
dent wishes] It was a painful dilemma.
The first was the most open, upright* and
straight-forward manner of settling the
matter, most undoubtedly; and conscience
and a first impulse urged me to it; but
then, a doubt in my own mind that he was
really dead — a faint, a very faint hope that
he might sometime return to his friends —
a loathing to inflict a wound upon the af-
fectionate heart I loved, which time alone
could heal, perhaps cause needless suffer-
ing to one who had already suffered enough
— restrained me; and between a desire to
do right, and a fear to do wrong, I did no-
thing but muse abstractedly, the result of
which was, in my own mind, to take a day
for thought and then decide. But the next
day found me in the same quandary, and
the next, and the next.

s

12

LENI-LEOTI:

Thus days rolled onj one after another,
and at the end of a month I was as unde-
cided as ever; and though daily basking in
the smiles of Lilian, listening to her art-
less words of musical sweetness, not even
a hint had I ever thrown out regarding
what I knew of her brother. Often would
she mention him, but always in a way to
denote she scarcely had a doubt of seeing
him the coming summer; and the thought
that she must be disappointed, ever tended
to make me sad and melancholy. I had
never objected to the indefinite period fix-
ed on for our wedding, for the simple rea-
son that, to object, was only to subject
myself to an inquiry into the cause, and
this I feared. What was I to dol The
question came up ni^t and day, at all
times and in all places, and troubled me
sorely — so much so, in fact, that I began
to fear its effects upon my constitution.

At last I resolved to tell her all, and for
this purpose invited her one morning to our
usual stroll on the banks of the Willa-
mette. The day was fine, and every thing
around beautiful. We took our way di-
rectly to the falls, and paused upon a blufi^
immediately over the rolling, sparkling
waters. This bluff, which is the bank of
the stream at Oregon City, varies from
twenty to eighty feet in height, and, run-
ning back, forms'the level upon which the
town was then just beginning to be laid
out. The scene was charming, notwith-
standing it was in the wilderness. A beau-
tiful forest stretched away on either hand
— below us rolled the river, roaring over
the falls — and on the opposite side rose
similar bluffs, and another pleasant forest.
It seemed a place fitted for the communion
of lovers; and here Lilian and I had whiled
our happiest hours. Here I had offered
my hand to her — here been accepted — and
of course the scene could not but recall
pleasant associations. Hither then we
strayed: and as we paused above the bright
river, Lilian exclaimed, with a look of
joy:

" O, it will be so delightful when Charles a forced smile, and, if truth must be own-
joins us! Do you kno\v what I have de- ed, rather rejoiced than otherwise that she

termined on, Frank]"

<* Surely notj^* I answered. \

** Do you see that level yonder, (point-

ing down the stream) which sets off so
pleasantly below this, shaded by those tall
old treesi"

" Ay, I see, Lilian."

"Well, there I have planned having
such a pic-nic, on the day when — when
we "

She paused, and blushed, and glanced
timidly at me, as if expecting I would com-
plete the sentence. I did not, for my mind
was busy with sad thoughts. Now, thought
I, is the time to tell her all. But how
should I begin to pain her! I was uneasy,
and felt miserable, and doubtless looked as
I felt, for the next moment she added, in
some alarm:

" Why, Francis, what is the matter!—
You look so pale! Has any thing hap-
pened!"

" Nothing new."

" What theni You always look so pain-
ed when I allude to brother Charles! —
Surely there must be some cause! Have
you kept any thing hidden from me? Speak,
Francis! — you left him well, did you not!"
and she grasped my arm, and looked earn-
estly in my face.

« I did, Lilian."

" Well, what then! You must have no
secrets from me now, you know."

I must tell her, I ^thought, and there can
never be a better time than this.

" Lilian," I began, and my voice trem-
bled as I spoke: " Lilian, I "

" What ho! my lovers, are you here!"
shouted a merry voice. " I thought I
should find you here;" and the next mo-
ment we were joined by the gay, light-
hearted Eva Mortimer. " In the name of
humanity," she said, as she came bounding
up to us, " what makes you both look so
pale! Not making love again, I hope;"
and she ended with a ringing laugh, which,
however pleasant it might have sounded at
another time, now jarred most discordantly
with the feelings of both.

" No, not exactly making love, Miss
Mortimer," 1 answered, turning to her with

had broken off what must have proved a
painful interview.
" Well," she rejoined, playfully, brush-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

13

ing back her dark ringlets with one of the
prettiest white, dimpled hands in the WQrld
— mind I say om of the prettiest, reader,
for of course I considered Lilian's equal,
if not superior: " Well, I am glad to hear
that, for I feared, from your sober looks,
you were either getting into a lover's
quarrel, or going over a nameless scene
that was enacted here some weeks ago;"
and she looked meaningly, first at Lilian,
who colored deeply, and then at me, who
I fancied stood it like a philosopher. —
" Come," .she added, in the same gay tone,
" I have use for you both all day. We —
that is I, and my good mother, and yours,
Lilian, and some others — ^have decided on
going to see a beautiful lake, which, we
are told, ornaments a certain fern bluff
that you see away yonder, some half mile
back of this magnificent city. City in-
deed!" she continued, with a curl of the
lip. " Why, it might be stolen from the
suburbs of Boston, or any other place of
note, and never be missed. But mother
would come in spite of me, and when she
takes a notion in her head she must carry
it ouL She wishes herself back now, and
I join her with all my heart; but, heigh-
ho! I suppose I shall have to spend my
days here, for I see no means of getting
away. But I will teaze her, though — I
am pledged to that — and that will be some
comfort, and save me dying of ennui. —
Oregon City! Umph! I thought it would
turn out to be woods before I came, and I
told her so— but she would not believe me.
Come, Mr. Leighton, don't be standing
there looking so sober! nor you, my bon-
ny Lilian. I am going to have you along,
and if I don't make you laugh, why, I will
turn in and cry myself. Only to think of
being here without a lover! It don't mat-
ter with you, Lilian, for you have got one;
but think of me, in pity do! Nobody here
but some thick headed rustics, that don't
know how to make lov§. I wish your
brother would come, Lilian — I am dying
to see him. He saved my life, you know,
and so I am bound, by all the rules of no-
vels, to fall in love with him, out of pure
gratitude."

" You will not need gratitude, I fancy,"
added I, with a sigh at the thdught of him,

^< should you ever be fortunate enough to
see him; for he is a noble fellow, and one
I think to your liking."

" Ah!" she replied, " you need not tell
me lie is a noble fellow — for none but such
would have risked his life as he did for a
stranger. I have been in love with him
ever since I heard about' it, though I had
long ago given up all hope of ever seeing
him."

" And he will be ready, I will vouch for
him, to reciprocate the tender feeling."

''Do you think sol" she said, slightly
blushing, and her eyes sparkling. ''O,
that will be so romantic! and I love ro-
mance dearly. I will have him down upen
his knees at every frown, and will frown
twenty times a day, just to have him down
on his knees; Now that will be making
love to some purpose, ehl" and giving
vent to a ringing laugh, she added, taking
my arm: " Come, don't let us keep the
good people waiting, or they may get ofiT
the notion, and I would not miss seeing
that lake for a costly ruby."

My design of telling a sad tale was thus
broken off, and, as I said before, I was not
sorry for it. Arm in arm with the twoy I
returned to what was denominated the vil-
lage, Eva the while chatting away gaily,
flying from one thing to another, but ever
adroitly returning to Charles Huntly, show-
ing that he now occupied no small share of
her thoughts.

From the specimen given, it will be seen
that Eva Mortimer was a very different be-
ing from Lilian Huntly; and as she is des-
tined to figure more conspicuously in these
pages than the previous ones, I consider
the present a good opportunity to describe
her.

In person, Eva Mortimer was slightly
above medium, with a form well developed,
and a bust of rare beauty. Her complex-
ion was clear and dark, though scarcely suf-
ficient to entitle h^r to the appellation
of brunette. Her soft, hazel eyes, shaded
by silken lashes, were very expressive, and
could look love languishingly, or sparkle
with the poetry of mirth, anger, or any of
the psiiisions of impulse. Her features
were regular and very prepossessing, with
a nose slightly acquiline, and mouth and

'LENI-LEOTI:

lips as tempting as one would care to look
upon. Her disposition accorded with her
looks. At heart she was open and gener-
ous, with a desire to please and be pleased,
let fortune smile or frown. Her spirits
were almost ever buoyant, and it required
a strong cause to depress them. Very dif-
ferent from some, she could not easily be
brought to consider this bright earth as only
a grave-yard, and# herself a mournful in-
habitant, ever stalking among tombs. She
did not bdlieve in storm, and ^cloud, and
dreariness^ so much %s in an open sky,
sunshine, cheerfulness and joy. It would
have required great depth of reasoning to
convince her that God had placed man
here expressly to mope out his days in
gloom and sorrow, either real or imagin-
ary. She did not fancy the dark side of
the picture; and full of the poetry of an
ardent temperament, there was to her in
the sunshine, the breeze, the leaf, the
blade, the flower, the mount, the vale, the
storm, and, in fact, in every thing of na-
ture, something to excite joy rather than
sadness. Whatever her fortune, she took
care to make the best of it and not repine.
She was lively even to gaiety, and could
rattle on for hours in a light, frollcksome
strain, calculated to mislead such as look
not below the mere surface; but those who
judged Eva Mortimer by this, judged wrong-
ly; for beneath was a heart as warm, as
earnest, as pure, as true, as ever beat in
the breast of woman. This was the drift,
the foam, that floated along on the strong
current of a noble mind. Had you seen
and listened to her in her merry moods,
you would have thought, perhaps, she had
no mind abov« trifles, or beyond the mere
present; that she was vain and coquettish
to a fault; that she would take no delight
in serious meditation; and yet you could
not easily have erred more in judgment.
I have seen her alone, in the night, gazing
at the stars for hours, when she thought
no human eye beheld her. I have watch-
ed her musing over a flower, while leaf by
l«af she dissected it, as if to lay bare its
y mysteries— over the pebbles which she
had gathered in some ramble — over a leaf,
a blade of grass, and, in fact, over what-
j^»er had chanced in her path — in t^ way

to show her possessed oi wiind, and that
of the highest order.

There were but few in her present lo-
cality who really knew Eva Mortimer, and
none who leemed to appreciate her as did
Lilian. In their short acquaintance, these
two bright beings had become /rienefs; not
the cold, unmeaning term of the world-^
but friends sincere and true, and bound by
a tie beyond the power of death itself to
sever. Like the magnet and the needle
had they come together, to be held by at-
tractions peculiar to themselves. To each
other their hearts were ever open, and the
joys and sorrows of the one, were the joys
and sorrows of the other. They talked to-
gether, walked together, read together,
(each had brought a few choice books')
sang together, and both ever seemed hap-
pier on ajl occasions for the other's pre-
sence. They were nearly of the same
age, of different temperaments, and uni-
ted like ihe different strings of a harp, to
bring forth nothing but music. In short,
they loved each other — not with the eva-
nescent love of fiery passion, which burns
and freezes alternately — but with th%t
deeper and truer love which springs from
admiration of, and dependence on, in a
measure, the qualities we do not possess
ourselves. It was a holy love — the love
of two fair maidens just budding into wo-
manhood.

Am I getting tedious, reader — presum-
ing too much upon your indulgence — keep-
ing you too long from the more excitinig
part of my story 1 Well, then, I will press
forward; for much is to be said and done
ere my task be finished.

Of the early history of Eva Mortimer, I
at this time knew but little, and this I had
gleaned from Lilian. Her mother, a wo-
man between forty and fifty years of age,
was « native of England, of wealthy pa-
rentage, but not of noble birth. Some
twenty-five year* before the date of these
events, she had clandestinely married a
^French exile, apparently without name or
fortune, rather for the love of romance,
and because she was strongly opposed by
her friends, than for any real affection
which she felt toward the individual him-
self. This procee^ding ht^ :so iiicensed Mr^

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

15

parents, that they had cast her off; hut
unlike most parents in such cases, unwill-
kig she should 'Buffer too much, had offered
her a life annuity above want, on condi-
tion she quitted the country immediateiy
and returned to it no more. To this she
had readily assented, and shortly after,
withher hi>sbaRd,<had embarked for Ameri-
ca, and had finally settled at Quebec, in
Canada, where for several years they had
continued to live together, though not, it
must be confessed, in the most harmonious
manner. Being rather head-strong and self-
willed, and withal possessed of an indepen-
dence, Madame Mortimer sought to have
every thing her own way, and had not
Bcrapled occasionally to make her husband
feel he was her debtor for every luxury he
enjoyed. Of a proud spirit, and a temper
somewhat irritable, he had not displayed
any too much Christian humility, meek-
ness and resignation, and many a bitter
quarrel had %een the consequence.

Time roHed on, and at the end of five
years she had given birth to femaletwins.
Both had been hoping for a male heir; and
consequently this event, instead of mend-
ing, had rather served to widen the breach.
Quarrel succeeded quarrel, and as love was
wanting to harmonize two opposing spir-
its, it was at last found necessary to sepa-
rate. Two years had passed meantime,
when ane morning Mortimer came into
the presence of his wife, with a letter in
his hand, and abruptly announced his in-
tention of leaving her.

** As you like," returned Madame Morti-
mer, coolly.

Mortimer turned and left her, nor had
she ever beheld him since. The night
following, the twin sister of Eva disap-
peared, and the most diligent inquiries, to-
gether with the offer of a Itfrge reward,
had failed in restoring her to her anxious
mother. The effect of this upon Madame
Mortimer proved very severe — for she lov-
ed both her children dearly — and a nervous
fever was the result, which nearly cost
her her life. Soon after this she re-
ceived news of her father's death, and that,
having repented his rashness, he had left
her a rich legacy, with permission to«re-
'tom to England*. To England^ therefore,

she went, and there had remained, super-
intending the education of Eva, until a de^
sire of travel had brought her once more
to this country, whither she had come in
company with her daughter and a wealthy
American lady, whose acquaintance had
been made across the water, and who sub-
sequently introduced her into New York
society, simply* as Madame Mortimer, with-
out a woM of explanation, this being at
her own earnest request. Thus it was, as
I have before mentioned, none who met
her in society had been able to learn who
she was or \»^ence she came, and this had
doubtless added to her popularity. This
was all I had been able to gather from
LiHan, and all, in fact, she knew; and this '
had been picked up at different times, from
remarks that had escaped the lips of Eva
in her more communicative moods.

In person, Madame Mortimer was large,
with a full, handsome countenance, ex-
pressive black eyes, and a bearing digni-
fied and queen-like. At heart she was
kind and affectionate; and doubtless, had
she been properly mated, would have made
an exemplary wife. Her passions, when
excited, were strong t^ violence, with a
temper haughty and unyielding to an equal,
but subdued and mild to an inferior. She
loved passionately, and hated madly. With
her, as a general thing, there was no me-
dium. She liked or disliked, and carried
both to extremes. She was a woman of
strong mind, much given to thought and
reflection, an acute observer of every thing
around her, and just sufiiciently eccentric
to throw the freshness of originality over
all she said or did. She would do what

>

she thought was proper, without regard to
the opinions of others, or what the world
would say. She had resolved on a jour-
ney to Oregon, not for any particular pur-
pose, but merely to carry out a whim and
see the country. She had done both, was
dlAsatisfied with her present locality, and
now designed returning to the States the
first favorable epportunity.

But to return from this digression.

Of the fate of her tHrother^ Lilian siill
remained ignorant; for after the interrup-
tion of Eva, I could' never summon enough
moral courage te. iigaifi' attempt the jsj^^

16

LENI-LEOTI:

narratioB. Ad time rolled on, I became
more and more depressed in spirits, and
more perplexed as to the course I should
pursue. It was not impossible, I began
to reason, that Charles Huntly might be
living; and the more I pondered on this,
the more I was inclined to believe it the
case. He had been lost mysteriously, in
a part of the world notoriously infested
with robbers and Indians. If captured by
the former, there was no argument against
the supposition that he had been plundered
and sold into slavery. If by the latter,
might he not have been adopted by some
tribe, and now be a prisoner? In either
case, was I not in duty bound to go in
quest of him — and, if found, rescue him
from a horrible doom, either by ransom or
force? At all events, I said to myself, I
can but fail, and may succeed.

On leaving home,' I had supplied myself
with a large amount of gold, to meet all
contingencies, and but little of this had
been expended. I could, perhaps, engage
a party, for a reasonable sum, to accom-
pany me;, and this, after duly weighing all
the circumstances, I had decided to at-
tempt, on the morning I have chosen for
the opening of this chapter. I would let
Lilian and the others suppose I had gone
home, and that I should probably return
with Charles Huntly. Having settled the
matter in my own mind, I resolved on im-
mediate action, and for^this purpose called
Teddy aside to communicate my inten-
tion.

" Teddy," I began, gravely, " did you
love your former master?"

"Me masther!" repeated the Irishman,
with a look of curious inquiry; <*and sure,
of who is't ye*re spaking, yeur honor?"

« Of Charles Huntly."

« Did I love him, is't? Faith, and does
a snapping turkle love to bite, or a thruok-
ard to thrink, that ye ax me that now? —
Love him? Troth, and was he living, I'd
go to the ind of the world and juntip off
jist to plase him, and so 1 would."

" Maybe, Teddy, you can serve him more
effectually than by a proceeding so dan-
gerous."

<< Sarve him, is't! Och, now, I'd be af-
ther knowing that same!"

" I have taken a fancy into my head that
he is living.''

" Rowly St. Pathrick! ye don't say the
likes!" exclaimed the Hibernian, holding
up both hands in astonishment. " Ye're
joking, sure, your honor?"

" No, Teddy, I am serious as a judge. I
have always had some faint doubts of his
death, and now those doubts have grown
strong enough to induce me to set off in
search of him;" and I proceeded to give
my reasons.

" Ah, sure," said Teddy, as I concluded,
" this is a happy day for me mother's son,
if nothing comes on't but parting wid —
wid "

" But, Teddy, I had designed taking you
along."

" And, sure, Misther Leighton, isn't it
going I is wid ye, now? D'ye think I'd he
afther staying behind, like a spalpeeA, and
ye away afther Misther Huntly, pace to
his ashes, barring that he's got no ashes at
all, at all, but is raal flish and blood like
your own bonny self, that's one of the
kindest gintlemen as iver wore out shoe-
maker's fixings, and made the tailor blush
wid modesty for the ixcillent fit of his
coat?",

" But you spoke of parting, Teddy?"

*< Ah, troth, and ye a gallant yourself,
your honor, and not sae it was a wee bit
>Qf a female parthing I's mintioning, jist?"

" Female parting! I do not understand

»

you

Here Teddy scratched his head, and look-
ed not a little confused.

" Why, ye sae, your honor," he replied,
hesitatingly, " ye sae the womens (Heaven
bliss their darling sowls!) is all loveable
crathurs, and it's mesilf that likes to maat
'em whereiver T goes; but somehow, your
honor, a chap's lijie to be thinking of one,
more in particular by raason of his nathur;
and that's the case wid mesilf now, and
Molly Stubbs that lives yonder, barring
that it's hardly living at all she is in this
wild coonthry."

The truth flashed upon me at once. —
One of the settlers, who had come here in
advance of my friends, had a large, buxom,
rosy-cheeked daughter of eighteen, who
went by the euphonious appellation of

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

17

Molly Slubbs — sometimes Big Molly —
and I now remembered having seen Teddy
idling about the premises, though at the
time without a suspieion^of the 'real cause.

" And so, Teddy, you have been making
love, ehl"

" Divil a bit, your honor."

*• Howl whati"

** No! ye sae it was all made to me hand,
and I've ounly been acting it out, jist."

** Aha! exactly. And so you think you
can part with your belie ami, eh?"

''And sure, if it's Molly Stubbs ye
maan by that Lathin, it's mesilf that can
say tiie farewell handsome, now."

<* Well, make your parting short, and
then see to having the horses got ready,
for in less than three hours we must be in
our saddles."

With this I turned away, and with slow
steps and a heart by no means the light-
est, sought the residence of Lilian, to com-
municate the unpleasant intelligence, that
in a few minutes we must part, perhaps to
meet no more.

CHAPTER II.

IKFOKM M7 FBIENlIk OF MY RESOLVE — THEIB
SUBFRISE — BEFJIRTURE F0STF0N£1> ONE
DAT — FREFARATIOKS — GENERAL LEAVE-
TAKING — TRYING INTERVIEW WITH LIL-
IAN, ANP FINAL ADIEU.

As I neared the residence of Mrs.
Huntly and Lilian, (which had also been
mine for some months) for the purpose of
bidding my friends another long adieu, I
heard the merry voice and ringing laugh
of Eva Mortimer. Another tibe this
would have been music to my ears, but
now my spirits were greatly depressed,
and I was not in a mood to appreciate it.
The cabin — it would scarcely bear a more
exalted title — seemed surrounded with an
air of gloom. It was as good as any, bet-
ter than most, which formed the village of
Oregon City; but yet, what a place to be
the abode of those who had been used all
their lives to the luxurious mansion of
wealth! — and I could not avoid making a

compurison between the condition of the
tenants now, and when I had approached
to bid them farewell some three years be-
fore — nor of thinking with what Chris-
tian-like resignation they had borne* and
still bore, their misfortunes. Their present
dwelling was built of unhftwn logs, whose
crevices were filled with clay, had a thatch-
ed roof, puncheon floors, and three apart-
ments. One of these had- been assigned
to Teddy and myself, another to Lilian
and her mother, and the third answered
the treble uses of parlor, sitting-room and
kitchen. A few beds and bedding, a ta-
ble, one or two chairs, together with a few
benches, and the most common jioiisehold
utensils, comprised the principal furniture.
And this was the abode of the lovely and
once wealthy heiress, Lilian Huntly ! And
she could seem contented here! What a
happy spirit, to adapt itself to all circum-
stances — to blend itself, if I may so ex-
press it, with every fortune!

With this reflection I crossed the thresh-
hold, and beheld Lilian and Eva in gay
conversation, and Mrs. Huntly seated by
the table, perusing a beok. Both the
young ladies turned to me as I entered,
and Eva at once exclaimed:

'* So, Mr. Francis, you have just con>«
in time — we have it all settled."

"May 1 inquire whati" returned 1,
grav^ely.

« May you inquire whati" she repeated,
with a playful curl of the lip. *' Did you
ever see such a starch, ministerial look,
Lilian 1 — as gravels he as a sexton. Why,
one would suppose all his friends were dead,
and he had ceme to invite us to the funer-
al. Heigh-ho! if ever I get a lover; he
shall wear no such look as that; if he do,
it Will be at the risk of having his hair
combed and powdered, I assure you."

" But I have reason for looking grave,"
I replied.

" Eh! what!" cried Eva, changing in-
stantly her whole expression and manner:
" Surely you have no bad news for usV
and she approached and laid her hand upon
my arm, with a troubled look, while Lilian
sunk down upon a seat, as if she had some
sad foreboding, and Mrs. Huntly turned
her eyes upon me inquiringly.

1«

LENI-LKOTI;

*' Give yourselves noalarm,'^ I hastened
to reply. " I have only come to say we
must separate for a time."

** Indeed!" exclaimed Eva, lookiogf se-
rious.

" You have heard tidings of Chariest"
added Mrs. Hantly.

I glanced at Lilian, but she said not a
word, though all color had forsaken her
features.

" No, I have not heard from Charles," T
rejoined, ia answer to Mrs. Huntly ; " but
presume I shall ere I return."

" Good heavens! then you are going
far?" cried Eva, in astonishment.

'^ I contemplate making a journey to the
east, and may meet Charles on the way,
in which case I shall return at once—
otherwise, Z may be absent the sum-

})

mer.

" Why, Francis, what has made you re-
solve thus so suddenly!" inquired Mrs.
Huntly. " How are we to do without you]
I thought — (she paused and glanced to-
ward Lilian, who had turned her head aside
and seemed deeply affected,)-^that — that
you intended to pass the summer with us."

" Cruel man," said Eva, in a whisper,
" how can you leave the sweetest being on
earth? O, you men!" And then she con-
tinued aloud: "I wish we were all going
with you. Can you not take us all along?"

" Why, I fear it would not be safe."

" As safe as it is here, I am certain. —
Surely we could not be more than killed
if we went, and who knows but some
of these Indians, that are in the habit of
visiting our great city here, may take a
notion we have lived long enough, and so
murder us all, or marry us, which would
be the same thing! But whoever knew a
gfentleman gallant enough to do what was
asked of himl Ah! I see — you don't even
listen now — your thoughts are all with
somebody else — and so I will retire. Let
me know when it is over, as I wish to bid
you adieu;" and she darted out of the
room.

Mrs. Huntly was on the point of inter-
rogatinj^ me farther, but perceiving by a
sign from Lilian that the latter wished to
see me alone, she made some excuse and
s\jrent into an adjoining apartment. The

moment she had disappeared^ Liliaa sprang
up and flew into my arms.

«Is this true, Francis?" she exclaim-
ed. " Are you really going to leave me?"

<< I fear I must for a time," I said, in a
not very firm voice.

" A long time then," sighed the fair girl;
" a long time, if you are going east. O,
Francis, I did not think we should part so
soon! What have you heard? Some-
thing, surely — for you have never intima-
ted this before — and you would not deceive
one who loves you!"

This was said so touchingly, with such
naiveUi that for a time I only replied by .
pressing her more closely to my heart, and
imprinting a kiss upon her ruby lips.

" 1 cannot tell my Lilian every thing,"
I at length made answer. " Suffice, that I
have important reasons for going; and
sometime, JGod willing, you shall know
all. My resolution to leave was formed
to-day, and to-day we mu^t part."

« To-day!" she gasped, and I felt her
whole form quiver like a reed shaken by
the wind. "O, no! not to-day, Francis!
that would be too much — too sudden!
You must not go to-day!"

" Why not, dearest? I shall return one
day sooner fbr it, doubtless; and it will be
as hard to part to-morrow as to-day."

*' But it is so sudden — ^so unexpected,"
she pleaded. " Delay till to-morrow, Fran-
cis!"

" Well, any thing to please you;" and I
stamped the promise with the seal of love.
"Be cheerful as you can in my absence,
Lilian, and when I return with your bro-
ther "

. " O, then you are going to find him!**
she exclaimed, interrupting me. '* That
return will be joyful indeed! Poor Charles!
If you do not meet him on the way, most
likely you will in Boston. Cheer him all
you can, Francis, and tell him we are as
happy as circumstances will allow us to
be."

" Beg pardon, your honor," said the voice
of Teddy at this moment, startling Lilian,
like a frightened roe,ffom my arms. " Beg
pardon for interrupting yees — ^but the baast
ye buyed this while ^ge is not inywhert^
to me Jknowing."

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

19

" Never mind, Teddy— go and hunt it.
It must be a1)out, unless the Indians have
stolen it, in which case I must get an-
other. Hunt-for it — I shall not leave to-
day."

"Troth, thin, I'll 'av another parthing
rnesilf, jist,*' returned Teddy, as he disap-
peared with a pleased look.

At this moment BIrs. Huntly, hearing
another voice, reappeared, and my tete-a-
tete with Lilian was for the present broken
off. The former had a great many ques-
tions to ask me — why I had decided leav-
ing 80 suddenly — when I expected to reach
Boston, and the like — so that I had no lit-

did not show it more, I knew. She was .
about to part with one she had loved frpm
childhood — one to whom her^ heart and
hand were given — an'd this in a strange,
wild country, for a long separation, full of
peril to both, with no certainty of ever
seeing him again. It could not but be
painful to her in any situation— doubly so
in the one she was placed — and I fancy I
appreciated her noble firmnesfe as it de-
served.

The. countenances of Mrs. Huntly, Ma-
dame Mortjmerj Eva, and many others, all
were grave; and I read in their looks, un-
feigned sorrow at my close-coming depar- .

tie difficulty in replying in a way not to ture. The morning meal was partaken in

commit myself. Then she had letters to
write to her friends, and Lilian had letters
to prepare also, and the news of my de-
parture having circulated quickly through
the village, numbers called to see me, to
send messages and letters to their native
land — 80 that with listening to their re-.
quests, to an extra amount of advice as to
the proper mode of conducting myself un-
der all circumstances, and attending to my
own affairs, I was kept busy all day, with-
out the opportunity of another private in-
terview with Lilian.

A fine horse, which Thad purchased a
few days before of an Indian, was lost —
the owner I suppose, or some of his friends,
thinking it best to recover the animal with-
out troubling me in the matter at all. — ,
Consequently, another beast was to be
procured; and as this was for Teddy, Fal-
lowed him to make his own selection — the
one I had ridden hither still being in mv
possession.

At last, every thing beinjg prepared, I
retired to my couch, heartily fatigued with
my day's work. But thought was too busy
to allow me much sleep; and I question if
at \esL8t one other did not pass a restless
night from the same cause; for on appear-
in the morning, I noticed the features of
Lilian were very pale, and her eyes red as
if from recent weeping. But she seemed
firm, ready to endure the separation, and
uttered not a single word of complaint. I
could have loved her for this, if for nothing
else — ^her conduct was so womanly and sen-
>.ib]e. ^he did not feel, the less,, tftat sjbe

silence, as aH were too sad and full of deep
thought for unnecessary conversation.— r
Ere it was finished, my friends had all col-
lected to bid me farewell and God speed;
and the announcement by Teddy that the
horses were ready, was the signal for me
to begin the parting scene. Commencing
with 'those T cared least about, I shook
each heartily by the hand, and passed from
one to the other as rapidly as possible.

" Francis Leighton," said Madame Mor-.
timer, when L came to her, and her hand
pressed mine warmly, and her voice trem-.
bled as she spoke, " remember that to you
and your friend my daughter owes her life,
and la debt of gratitude that may never
be cancelled. Jf my prayers for your safe
and happy return be of any avail, you have
them. God yess you, sir! and remember, .
that wha,tever may happen jn this chang-
ing world, in me, while living, you have a,
warm friend; and (approaching and whis-
pering in my ear) so has Lilian and her
mother. While I have fiught, they shall
never want. Fdrewell, my friend! fare-,
well — but I hope, only for a time."

It may not Surprise the reader, if I say
the pressure of my fingers was none the
less for this inforjnation, nor my heart any
heavier, unlesp jt was by the additional
weight of tears of joy.

Madame M6rtiQier stepped aside, and I
turn.ed to Eva. There was no n^erri-..
njient i^ h^rlook — n^othing light upo^. her
tongue^.

*^ You bav^ heayd the words of mother," ♦
she said, impressively. "Tfiy&y we no^t

ao

LENI-LEOTI:

meaningless. To you and your friend 1 1 shyness — no trembling — no apparent ex

am indebted for my life. My conversation
at times may have seemed light and tri-
fling; but notwithstanding, Francis, I would
have you believe, there is a heart beneath
all that does not overlook the merits of its
friends, nor feel lightly for their welfare.
When you see your friend, tell him that
he is prayed for daily, by one who, though
she never saw, can never cease to remem-
ber him. Adieu! and may God bear you
safely through all peril!" and she turned
away, as if to hide a tear.

" Francis," said Mrs. Huntly, striving
to command her voice, which trembled not
a little, as she held both my hands in hers:
" Francis, it is hard — ^very, very hard — to
part with you. But I suppose I must, and
hope it is all for the best. I have had ^o
much trouble within a few years — have
seen so many of those I once supposed
my friends forsake me — that it really be-
comes grievous to part with any of thi»
few I have tried and not found wanting.
But go, Francis, and God protect you! —
Should you be fortunate enough to meet
with dear Charles (here her voice faltered
to a pause, and she was forced to dash
away the tears dimming her eyes,) — tell —
tell him all. Break the matter gently, if
he does not already know' it — and— and
comfort him the best way you can. My
love, my deepest, undying love^ to your pa-
rents and all my friends. There-^tbere —
I can say no more — no more. Go, Fran-
cis, and God's blessing and mine attend
you! Good-by! farewell!" and shaking
my hands warmly, with her head averted,
she dropped them and disappeared into an-^
other apartment, seemingly too much af-
fected to tai^ry longer in my presence^

With a proper delicacy, for which I
gave them ample credit, ope after another
departed, until I was left^lone with Lilian.
While these several partings were taking
place, she had remained seated, watching
the whole proceedings, with what feelings Ijprime and vigor of manhood without ever
I leave lovers to judge. I now turhed to having felt this — ^without this to look back

citement. She seemed, as her heaven-
ly blue eyes fixed upon mine, rather a
beautiful figure, cut from the purest mar-
ble, cold and motionless^ than a living,
breathing, human being. But oh! what
thoughts, what agonies, were rending that
soul within, mastered only by a most pow-
erful will! With a step none of the firm-
est, I approached and took a seat by her
side, and laid my hand upon hers.

" Lilian," I said, in a scarcely articulate
voice: "Lilian, the time has come to— to
—part."

She did not reply in words — she could
not; but she sprang to her feet, her ivory
arms encircled my neck, and her feelings
found vent in tears upon my heaving breast.
Smile if you will, reader — you who have
passed the romantic bounds of a first pure
and holy passion, and become identified
with the cares and dross of a money-get-
ting, matter-of-fact, dollar-and-cent-life —
smile if you will, as your eye chances up-
on this simple passage, and curl your lip
, in proud disdain of what you now consider
foolish days of love-sick sentimentality;
but remember, withal, that in your long
career of painful experience, you can refer
to no perio^when you felt more happiness .
more unadulterated joy, than that when
the being of your first ambition and love
lay trustingly in your arms. It is a point
in the life of each and all, who have ex-
perienced it, (and to none other are these
words addressed) which can never be
erased from the tablet of memory; and
though in after years we may affect to de-
ride it as silly and sentimental, it will
come upon us in our reflective moments,
like a warm sunshine suddenly bursting
upon a late cold and gloomy landscape;
and insensibly, as it were, our spirits will
be borne away, to live over again, though
briefly, the happiest moments of our ex-
istence. The man who has passed the

her, and felt the grand trial was at hand,
and my heart seemed in my very throat.
Her sweet countenance was pale and
death-like, her very lips were white, and
her eyes full of tears. There was no

to-^I pity; for he has missed the purest
enjoyment ofl^ered to mortal; and his whole
path of life must have been through a ste-
rile desert, without one green blade or
flower to relieve its barren aspect;

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

21

For some moment^ the heart of Lilian
beat rapidly against mine, and her tears
flowed hot and fast. I did not atteiQpt to
restrain the latter, for I knew they would
bring relief to'an overcharged soul, and I
rejoieed that she could weep. At length
they ceased, and Lilian spoke.

" I will not detain you longer, dear
Francis. Between you and I, who know
each other so well, words are idle and un-
meaning^r at least unexpressive of our
feelings. Avoid danger for your own sake,
and for the sake of her who loves you;
and do not forget that she will count the
days, the hours, ay, the minutes of your
absence."

" I will not, dearest Lilian," I exclaim-
ed, straining her to my breast, and press-
ing my lips again and again to hers. *' I
will not forget what you have told me. I
will not forget there lives an angel to make
happy my return, an4 God send my return
may make her happy also! Adieu, dear-
est — take heart — do not despond — and
Heaven grant our meeting may be soon!
There, God bless you! and holy angels
guard you!" and taking a feurewell salute,
I gently seated her as before, and rushed
from the cottage.

Two fiery horses stood saddled and bri-
dled at the door, pawing the earth impa-
tiently. Every thing was ready for a start;
and snatching the bridle of one from the
hand of Teddy, I vaulted into the saddle.
The next moment I was dashing away
through the forest at a dangerous speed,
but one that could scarcely keep pace with
my thoughts.

CHAPTER HL

▲ KECELESS BIDE — LUDICROUS APPEARANCE
OP TEDDY — KILL A BUCK — INDIANS —
FRIENDLY SIGNS — CLOSE QUARTERS — A
TALK — GIVE THEM TOBACCO — TREACHERY
— DEATH OF THE TRAITOR— PURSUE OUR
COURSE.

With the mind completely engrossed,
the body often acts mechanically, or by
instinct, and performs, without our know-
ledge at the time, exactly what reason

would have dictated; and when some tri-
fling circumstance recalls us to ourself, we
arouse as from a dream, and are surprised
at what has been accomplished during our
brief alienation.

So was it with myself in the present
instance. On, on I sped, as if riding for
life, my hand firmly upon the rein, guiding
unerringly my high-mettled beast, and yet
unconscious of any thing external, with
thoughts wild and painful rushing through
my brain. How long or far I had ridden
thus, I do not exactly know — though miles
now lay between me and Oregon City —
nor how much longer I should have con-
tinued at the same break-neck speed, had
my horse not stumhU^d and thus broken
the monotony of a steady ride, by unseat-
ing and nearly throwing me over his
head.

Recovering my position, and reining my
steed to a halt, I found him covered with
foam, and very much blown from his late
run; and that I was upon a narrow upland
prairie, which stretched away before me
for several miles, fringed on either hand,
at no great distance, with a ^beautiful
wood. '^

" Where am II" was my first involun-
tary exclamatton — ^**how did T get here^
with a whole neckl and where is Teddyl"

The last question found a more ready
answer than either of the preceding, in a,
shout from the veritable Teddy O'Lagher-
ty himself. I looked behind and beheld
him coming, as if on a race with death for
the last half hour of his existence. His
appearance was not a little ludicrous. His
body was bent forward at an angle of for-
ty-five degrees, so as to allow him to grasp
the mane of the beast — his only hope —
his feet having slipped from the stirrups,
which were dangling against the animal's
flanks, and serving the purpose of spurs-r*
while his hat, for security being held in hi»
teeth, smothered the shouts he was making
to attract my attention. Add to this, that
the horse had no guide but his own will —
that at every spring Teddy bounced from
the saddle, to the imminent danger of his
neck, and greatly to the aid of his diges-
tive organs — and an idea of the discomfi-
* ture of the poor fellow may be formed, as

22

U&NI.LEOTI:

his horae dashed up along side of mine,
and came to a dead hak«

It is said there is but one short step
from the sublime to the ridiculous, and I
certainly felt the force of the proverb on
the present occasion. I had been half
mad with distractin/gr thoughts; but every
thing was now forgotten, and I burst forth
in a roar of laughter, such as I am certain
bad never startled those solitudes before.
"Be howly jabers!" cried Teddy, re-
gaining an upright position, with a face
the hue of a boiled lobster, " is ye mad
now, ye divil — beg pardon! — ^your honor I
maan. Howly jabers! what a ride! Och!
I'm done for — claan murthered iatirely —
all pumice from me toes upwards, barring
me body and head-piece, jist."

** Why, Teddy," returned I, as soon as
I could get calm enough to command my
voice, "what new feature of horseman-
ship is this you have adopted? I am sure
you would make your fortune in any cir-
cus, with such a heroic display of your
animal capacities."

Ah! ye may laugh and be d — plased to
yees; but it's me mother's own son as feels
more as crying, so it is. Fortune, is it,
ye mintioned? Be howly St. Pathrick's
birth-day in the morning! it's not mesilf
that 'ud do the likes agin for twinty on
'em. Och! I'm killed intirely — all barring
the braathingr as lingers still."

" Well, well, Teddy, I trust you will not
have to repeat it," pursued I, laughing. —
" But come— where do you think we are 1"
" Think, is iti Ye ask me to think]—
Sure, divil of a think I 'av in me now. I
lift it all on the road, that was no road at
all, but the worst travelled counthry I iver
put eyes on. We may be among the Hin-
doo haathen, for all me knows conthra-
wise; for not a blissed thing did I sae on
the journey, but r-rocks, traas and stumps,
and the divil knows what all, and thim a
going so fast Ps couldn't git time to say
good-by to 'em."

To the best of my judgment, we had
come about five miles, in a direction due
east. Far in the distance before me, I
now beheld the lofty, snow-crowned peak
of Mount Hood; and toyrard this, without
farther delay, we bent our steps, at a pace

strongly contrasting ' the speed which had
had borne us hither.

" Why did you not call to merwhen you
saw me riding at a rate so fearfull" I in-
quired, as I rode along at a brisk trot.

" Call, is it?" replied Teddy. « jTaith!
jist ax me lungs if I didn't call, till me
breath quit coming for the strain upon
'em."

" And so you could not make me hear
eh?"

"Make the dead hear! Och! I might
as well 'av called to a grave-yard, barring
tHe looks of the thing. Was ye mad,
your honor?"

" O no, Teddys only a little excited at
parting with my friends."

"Ah! tnim same parthings is mighty
har-r-rd, now, so they is," rejoined Teddy,
with a sigh^

" So you can speak from experience*
eh?"

" Be me troth can I, now; and so can
Molly Stubbs — the swaat crathur that she

is.

»

" Did it break her heart, Teddy?"

" It's not asy for me to say, your honor;
but it broke her gridiron, and the ounly
one she had .at that, poor dearl"

"Her gridiron!" I exclaimed, struggling
to repress my risible faculties, and keep a
grave face — for I saw Teddy was in sober
earnest, and apparently totally unaware
there was any thing ludicrous in his re-
mark. " How did it affect the gridiron,
Teddy?"

" Why, ye sae now, she was jist holding
it betwaan her two fingers, and fixing for
a fry maybe, whin up I comes?, and tapping
her under the chin, by raason of our ould
acquaintance, I sez:

" • It's a blissed day I saw ye first, me
darling.'

" * That it was, Misthcr O'Lagherty,' sez
she.

" ' I wish that first maating could last
foriver,' sez I.

" * And so do I,' sez she.

" *But it won't,' sez I; and thin I sigh-
ed, and she axed me what was the mather.

"' Oh! worra! worra!' 1 sez; *** it's about
to part we is, Molly, dear.'

" ' Ye don't say the likes!' sez she; and

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST,

23

thin down come the gridiron, as if the
Quid Scratch was a riding it, smash upon
the stone harth, and into my arms pitched
Molly, wid a flood of tears that made me
look wathery for a long occasion.

" Now it's not what we did aftherwards,
Pm going to till at all, at all; but whin
we both come sensible^ our eyes besaw
the gridiron all broke, and not wort a ha'*
pence. Molly cried, she did, and I gin
her a month's wages to ase her conscience.
Musha, now, but parthings is bar-r-rd, they

».

w

In this and like manner I managed to
relieve my mind of many gloomy thoughts,
which otherwise must have depressed it.
I had parted the second time with Lilian,
for a journey equally as full of peril as the
first, and, if any thing, of a more indefi-
nite character. I was going in search of
my lost friend, it is true; but what little
chance had I, I thought, when I came to
look at it soberly, of finding him, even if
alive. I might travel thousands on thou-
sands of miles — be months, even years, on
the search— and yet be no nearer reveal-
ing his locality than when I set out. If
living, it was a mere chance we should
ever meet again; and nothing, perhaps,
but .a kind Providence could bring us to-
gether.. As may be inferred, when I quit-
ted my friends in Oregon City, I had no
definite plan arranged; and now that I was
really on the journey, the question natur-
ally arose as to what I should do, how first
to proceed, and where to begin. I had re-
solved on engaging assistance — ^but where
was this to be found? For some time I
puzzled my own brain with the matter, and
then referred it to Teddy.

Though brought up in an humble sphere
«f life, with very little education, Teddy
was nevertheless a keen, shrewd observer,
and of excellent judgment in matters com-
ing within the range of his intellect and
experience; and accordingly I relied much
upon his advice.

Having heard the case fully stated, with
^ the dignified gravity of a judge, and asked
several pertinent questions, he replied, that
•ur best course, in his humble opinion, was
to continue our present route as far as
Fort Hall, where we would be likely to

augment our number to our satisfaction^
and covld then proceed in a southerly di^
rection and be guided by succeeding events.

As this tallied exactly with my own
views, the plan was quickly adopted, and
I rode forward with great mental relief,
that I now had a fixed purpose, whether
right or wrong.

For several nules our course lay over
the upland prairie I have mentioned, and
then the ground changed and became more
rolling, which in turn gave place to hills,
sometimes sparsely and sometimes densely
wooded, interspersed with rocks, gullies,
and deep ravines, that greatly impeded our
progress. We halted to noon in a little
valley, through which, with a roaring sound
over its rocky bed, dashed a bright stream
of pure water, on^ whose banks grew rich,
green grass, of such luxuriance as to sat-
isfy the appetites of our animals in a very
short time.

While partaking of some plain food
of which we had a small store, we amused
ourselves by overhauling our rifles, exam-
ining their priming, as well as our other
weapons and ammunition, and seeing that
every thing was in proper condition to meet
danger. Scarcely was this over, when in
a whisper Teddy called my attention to a
fine, fat buck, which was trotting along
within rifle shot. Quick as thought, I
drew up my piece and fired. The animal
instantly bounded forward a short distance,
reeled, and fell over upon its side.

The next moment we were on our way
to examine the carcass, aqd take from it
the most suitable portions for our wants.
We had scarcely proceeded twenty paces,
when Teddy, grasping my arm, exclaimed:

" Injins, be jabers!"

And sure enough, just issuing from a
clump of bushes on the opposite side of
the valley, distant less than two hundred
yards, were six half-naked savages, armed,
two of them with rifles or muskets, and
the others with bows and arrows. As it
was impossible to divine their intentions,
only by their acts, and as they made
straight towards us, I snatched Teddy 'e ri-
fle from his hands, and ordering him to load
mine as quick as possible, raised it to my
shoulder, determined, should they prove

24

LENI-LEOTIj

hostile, to sell my life dearly, and die, if I
mnBt, with the satisfaction of having done
my duty in self-defence.

Perceiving my movement, they came to
a halt, and made me friendly eigns, by ez-
teQding their open hands and then placing
them on their hearts. Dropping the muz-
zle of my rifle, I did the same, and then
waited for them to come up, though, it
must be confessed, with not the most faith
imaginable in the^ amicable professions.
However, I kept well on my guard, and by
the time they had shortened the first men*
tioned distance between us by a . hundred
paces, Teddy coolly announced that two
bullets were at their service, at an^ mp-
ment they might choose.

Ere they joined us, I had made th\3m out
by their costume and paint, to belong to
the Ohinnook tribe, whose grounds lie
due north of Oregon city, on tlie opposite
side of the Columbia river. I had frequent-
ly seen more or less of them in the village;
and had, in fact, purchased the horse, men-
tioned as being stolen, from one of their
tribe; so that I now feared less a design
upon my life than upon my property.

The party in question were all inferior
beings, both in size and appearance; but
one seemed superior to the others, and pos-
sessed of command. He approached me
iu advance of his companions, and held
out his hand, which I accepted and shook
in a friendly manner. He next proceeded
to Teddy, and each in turn followed his
examnle. When all had done, the chief
addressed me in broken English:

" Where you comel"

" The village, yonder," I replied, point-
ing with my finger toward Oregon City.

"Where gol"

"Away beyond the mountains;" and I
pointed eastward.

f* Good muskee (musket) goiV*

i nodded in the affirmative.

f' Good boss gotr'

I nodded again.

*' Good present got, ehl poor Injin, ehl"

" I have nothing but some tobacco I can
spare," I answered, of which I still had a
pretty good supply.

" Ugh! bacco good," rejoined the chief,
with a smile.

This was in my sack on my horse, and
I was not sorry of an excuse to get to him
without showing myself suspicious of my
new acquaintances; for I had noticed
many a wistful glance cast in that direc*
tion, and I feared lest, presuming on our
weakness, they might think proper to take
our animals by a coup de maint and leave
us to make the best of it. Accordingly, I
informed the savage where the article was,
and that I must go alone and get it."

" Why me no gol" he asked.

"Then your followers must stay be-
hind."

" Why dey no gol" he inquired, a little
angrily as I thought.

" Because I shall not permit it," I re-
plied, decisively.

"Ugh! we so — ^you so," he rejoined,
holding up first six and then two fingers,
to indicate the numbers of e&ch party. —
" We strong — ^you weak. We go, ehV*
and he made a step forward.

In an instant the muzzle of my rifle was
pointed at his breast, and my finger on the
trigger, a movement imitated by Teddy,
who quickly covered another.

" Another step, chief," I said, " and yon
are a dead man."

"Back, ye divils — je dirthy blaggards!
d*ye hear the gintleman spaking to yees
nowV* shouted Teddy.

This peremptory decision had a saluta-
ry effect upon the white-livered knaves,
who instantly shrank cowering back, the
chief at once exclaiming, in a deprecating
tone:

" No shoot. We no go. You go."

Fearing treachery, we instantly dtarted
for our horses, keeping our faces to our
foes, and our rifles levelled, prepared for '
the worst. Having secured a few plugs
of the desired article, we both mounted
and returned to the savages, among whom
I made an immediate distribution. The
chief thanked me, and said they would
now go home. Accordingly, the whole
party set oflT in one direction, and we in
another, rifles in hand. We had scarcely
gone twenty paces, when crack went a
musket behind us, and a ball whizzed over
my head.

"The treacherous scoundrels!" I ex*

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

25

•laimed; and wheeling my horse u I
spoke, I beheld the whole six running and
dodging for their lives. Singling out the
villain that had fired at us, I drew up my
rifle and pulled trigger. The next mo*
ment he lay howling in the du(|t, deserted
by his cowardly friends, whose speed
seemed greatly accelerated by this event.
Teddy would have gone back for his
scalp, but this I would not permit, both
on account of its barbarity, and that by
delay we might encounter another party.
Setting spurs to our horses, therefore, we
dashed rapidly away, leaving our game
and foes behind us, and congratulating
ourselves upon our providential escape.
V For the reA of the day our progress was
by no means slow, though the travelling at
times most execrable. The sun was al-
ready throwing a long shade to the east-
ward, when, ascending a rough, stony
ridge, which we had been forced to do cir-
cuitously, we beheld below us a beautiful
plain of miles in length and breadth, along
the eastern portion of which towered the
lofty Cascade mountains, with the ever-
lasting snow-crowned Mount Hood rising
grandly above all, till lost beyond the
clouds, glittering like apinacle of burnish-
ed silver in the rays of the sinking sun.
It was a sublime and beautiful scene for
the painter and poet; and for many min-
utes I paused and gazed upon it with feel-
ings of reverence and awe for the great
Author of a work so stupendous. A simi-
lar feeling must have possessed Teddy,
for he instantly crossed himself and re-
peated the pater-noster.

Descending to the base of the hill, we
found a suitable place and encamped. —
Though greatly fatigued, I did not rest
well; and either my thoughts, or the dismal
howl of surrounding wolves, or both, com-
bined with other circumstandes, kept me
awake most of the night.

CHAPTER IV, ,

TMS9 MOTTHT HOOD AHD THE CASCADES —
ABRTVE AT FORT WALLA-WALLA — EN-
LIST A FRENCH V0TA6BUB — FRENCH AND
IRISH — A QUARREL — A CHALLENG£~^A
FIGHT — FOES BECOME FRIENDS.

Early the following morning we were
on our feet, and having partaken a slight
repast, we mounted and set off towards
Mount Hood. The travelling was now
good, being over a rolling prairie, which,
as we neared this colossal erection of na-
ture, gradually becam^ more and more
level, so that our hordes being refreshed
and full of fire, our speed was all that could
be desired even by the most impatient.—^
Before noon we reached the base of Mount
Hood; and if I Ji&d thought it sublime at a
distance, I now fdt, as it were, its sublim*-
ity in an awful degree. Up, up^ up it rose,
until my eyes became strained to trace its
glistening outline in the clear, blue ether.
Its base was surrounded with sand, dead
trees, and broken rocks, which had accu-
mulated there, perhaps, by the torrents of
ages, as they rushed and roared down its
jagged sides. Por a considerable distance
above the plain, it was well timbered; then
came a long stretch of green grass; then a
long barren spot; and then commenced the
snow and ice, which rose far beyond the
ordinary height of clouds — the whole com-
bined, forming a spectacle of which . the
pen can convey no adequate idea. To the
right and left stretched away the Cascades,
which, stupendous of themselves, seemed
as mole-hills in compare with Mount
Hood. Far to the south rose the lofty peak
of MouDt Jefferson, and as far to the north,
on the other side of the Columbia, that of
Mount St. Helens.

Having gazed upon the scene to my sa-
tisfaction, I turned my horse to the right,
and began my ascent up a valley, formed
by the partial meeting of two hills, and
down the^ very bed of which roared a
sparkling streamlet. The farther I ascend-
ed, the more wild the scene, the more pre-
cipitous and dangerous the path. In fact,
on three occasions we were obliged to dis-
mount and lead our horses for a considera-

26

LENI-LEOTL

ble distance, and once our steps had to be
retraced for half a mile, in order to pass
around a frightful chasm. '^Near the sum-
mit of the ridge we came upon a fine
spring and an abundance of grass. Here
we encamped for the night, during which
I slept soundly.

The following day was cold and stormy,
with sleet and snow. This may surprise
the reader, who bears in mind that it was
HOW June; but snow-storms on the moun-
tains are not regulated altogether by the
seasons, and are frequently known to oc-
cur in one part of the country, while in an-
other, not ten miles distant, the hea< may
be excessire. As all are aware, the higher
we ascend, the colder the atmosphere; and
on many high mountains in southern
climes, there may be all kinds of temper-
atures, from the torrid to the frigid — from
the valley of dates, figs and oranges, to the
peaks of never melting ice and snow-^
and this within the distance of five or ten
miles.

Ere we raised our camu I shot a moun-
tain goat, being the first game we had kill-
ed since the buck of unfavorable memory.
Of this we prepared our breakfast, and al-
so put a few choice pieces in our " possi-
bles," leaving the balance to the wolves,
which, in justice to the appreciation they
showed thereof I must say, was nothing
but a pile of shiny bones ere we were
fairly out of sight. I now consulted an
excellent map, which I had procured from
one of the emigrants, and referring to my
compass, laid my course a little north of
east, so as to strike the Dalles of Colum-
bia, and thus the most travelled route to
i^nd from Oregon City.

The day, as I have said, being stormy,
and our route lying over a wild, bleak
country, served not a little to depress the
s.pirits of both Teddy and myself. Noth-
ing of consequence occurred through the
day to distract our thoughts from their
gioomy channel, and but little was said by
either. By riding hard, we gained the
Dalles that night, and encamped on the
banks of the Columbia. Eager to arrive at
Port Halli we again pushed ahead on the
succeeding day, and following up the Co-
l^ffibip, reached Fort Walla-Walla, on the

thivd from our quitting. the Dalle», without
any events worthy of particular note.

This fortress, constructed on the plan
of Fort Laramie, described in "Prairie
Flower," I shall pass without notice, other
than that it contained a small garrison of
resolute and daring adventurers, or rather
mountaineers and their squaw wives, who
preferred passing their time here in com-
parative ease, at good wages, to the priva-
tions and perils of trapping in the wilder-
ness.

Here I found a number of hardy fellows,
who had lately " come in," preparing to
set off again for the Blue Mountains —
some to hunt for game in the forests, and
others to trap in the streams. Here were
also several friendly Indians, (friendly
through fear of the whites,) the usual
number of traders, pediers, one or two
land specula-tors and fur company agents,
and one French voyctgeur — all more or less
engaged in drinking, trafficking, and gam-
bling — the usual routine of a gathering of
this kind.

Thinking it possible to raise a party
here, I made a proposition to several, but
found all had prior engagements. I next
made some inquiries concerning Black
George, and learned, much to my satisfac-
tion, that he had been seen quite recently
on the Blue Mountains, and that in ail
probability I should find him at Fort Bois,
or Fort Hall, as he was then slowly taking
his way eastwai'd.

" If you desire an excellent guide," said
an agent to me, " let me recommend to
you Pierre Boreaux; who, though some-
what eccentric at times, you will find most
faithful in the discharge of his duty. I
have tried him, sir, and know."

" Just what I desire exactly," I replied.

" Come, then," he said; and taking me
aside, he presented me to the individual in
question, who was none other than the
French voyageur previously mentioned.

He was a "small, dapper personage, very
neat in his appearance, with a keen, rest-
less black eye, and a physiognomy more
inclined to merriment than melancholy.
His age was about forty, though he ever
took pains to appear much younger. His
penchant was for the wild and daring; and.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

ST

never was he so well contented, as when ;
engaged in some perilous enterprise. This,
taken in connection with his jovial turn
of mind, may at first seem parodoxical; but
it must be remembered, that most persons
incline less to their likes than their oppo-
sites; and that the humorist is the man
who seldom smiles, while the man of grav- \
est sayings may be literally a laugh-
ing philosopher. He was much addicted,
too, to taking snuff, of which he always
managed to have a good stock on hand, so
that his silver box and handkerchief were
in requisition on almost ail occasions. He
spoke with great volubility, in broken
English, generally interlarded with French,
accompanied with all the peculiar shrugs
and gesticulations of his countrymen. He
was, in short, a serio-comical, singular be-
ing, of whom I can convey no better idea j
than to let him speak and act for him-[
self. ' i

" Ah, Monsieur," he said in reply to my I
salutation, taking a huge pinch of snulF the <
white and bowing very politely ; " ver |
moche happe make you acquaintones.-^ I
Will you 'ave von tam — vot you call him —
happenese, ehl — to take von leetle — I for-
get him — so — (putting his thumb and ling-
er together, to indicate a - pinch,) avec
moi, ehl"

•* Thank you," I returned, " I never use
the article in that shape."

** Ver sorre hear him. Vous remem-
ber le grand Empereur Napoleone, ehl"

«Ay."

" Ah! von plus great sheneral him. He 1
take snoof, eh J Veil, you speak now, you J
— vot you call him — businese, eh!"

" I wish to enga.^e you," I replied, " to
go on a journey lull of peril, in the capa-
city of guide."

" Ou aliez-vous]"

« How]"

•* Ah, pardonncz-moi! I say, vere you
got"

"To Mexico, perhaps." .

"Oui, Monsieur." I shall be ver rooche
delight, I certainmcnt assure you. Ven,
you go, ehl"

" I leave here, en routs for Fort Halli at,
^^ylight to-morrow."

£[9T0 the Frenchman took one ot. twp

hasty pinches of his favorite, and closing
his box, said:

" Von leetle absence, Monsieur. I sail
'ave von ver moche pleasure;" and off he
skipped as gay as a lark, to prepare- hlm-^
self for the journey.

At daylight on the succeeding morning,
the Frenchman was at his post, well mount-
ed on a full blooded Indian pony, armed to
the teeth, and really looking quite the war-
rior. Three minutes later we had all pass-
ed the gate and were speeding away.

This was the first meeting between Ted-
dy and Pierre, and I soon became aware
it was any thing but a pleasant one, par-
ticularly on the part of Teddy, who cast
many a furtive glance upon the other, ex-
pressive of dislike. What this arose from
— whether from jealousy, national preju-
dice, or contempt for the inferior propor-
tions of Pierre — I was at a loss to deter-
mine« Never before had I seen animosity .
to a fellow traveller so strongly depicted
on the features of the faithful Teddy. It
may be he fancied the Frenchman of equal
grade-withhiinself, and was jealous of his
su|)planting him in my favor, and this seem-
ed the most probable of the three suggest-
ed causes. Pierre, however, showed no
ill will to the Irishman, but merely return*
ed his- glances with a supercillious look,
as though he considered him his inferior.
But he could not long remain silent; and
so, after riding on briskly for a short dis-
tance, he turned to Teddy, and with a mie-
chievous twinkle in his small black eye,
said, with much suavity:

" Parlez vous Frangaisl"

" Spake it in Inglish, ye spalpeen! and
thin a gintleman can answer yees," replied
Teddy, reddening with vexation. "II it's
frog languag'^ yo's jabbering, sufe it's not
mesilf as wants to know what yo says,

now.

>»

"Quo voulez-vous. Monsieur 1" inquired
the Frenchman, looking slily at me with a
significant shrug, and secretly enjoying the
disconvfitore of Teddy.

« Quack, quack, quack, kither hoben,"
rejoined Teddy, fiercely. "Sure, now, and
is it that ye can understand yourself, ye
tief! • It's maybe smart, now, ye's afther
thiiiking yourself, by token ye can say

S8

LBNI-LEOTI:

things I don't know the maaning of. And
80 ye is smart, barring the foolish part,
which comprehinds the whole of yees. —
Troth! can ye fight, Misther Frogeater?
Come, now, that's Inglish; and by St.
Pathrick's bones, I'll wager ye'retoo cow-
ardly to understand it."

" Come, come, Teddy," I said, " you are
getting personal. I ean allow no quarrel-
ing."

" Och! there's no danger, your honor,"
returned Teddy, turning upon Pierre a
withering look of contempt. . " It's not
inny frog-eater as is going to fight his bet-
thers; and sure it's not Teddy O'Laghorty
as can fight alone, jist."

Meantime there had been a quiet, half
smile resting on the features of the French-
man, as though he were secretly enjoying
a fine joke. Even the abusive language
of the excited Irishman did not appear to
disturb his equanimity in the least. There
he sat, as cool and apparently as indiffer-
ent as if nothing derogatory to his fight-
ing propensities had been uttered, or at
least understood by him. I was begin-
ning, in fact, to think the latter was the
case, or else that Teddy was more than
half right in calling him a coward, when
I became struck with a peculiar expres-
sion, which suddenly swept over his bron-
zed features, and was superceded by the
siftne quiet smile — ^as we sometimes at
noon-diqr see a cloud flit over a bright
landscape, shading it for an instant only.

Suddenly Pierre reined his pony close
along side of Teddy, and in a very bland
"voice, as if begging a favor, said:

*' Monsieur, you say someting 'bout fight,
eh? Sare, I sail 'ave le plus grande de-
light to toot you with un — vot you call
him — peestole> ehl"

" The divil ye will, now?" replied Ted-
dy,with a comical look of surprise. " Sure,
thin, an' it's mesilf that 'ud like to be do-
ting the same by you, and ye was wort the
powther it 'ud cost."

'< Sare," returned the Frenchman with
dignity, " in my conntre,ven gentilshom-
mes go for kill, dey nevare count de cost.
I soot you — I cut you troat — I sharge you
Boiing."

<* Well, be jabers! since ye've got your

foul tongue into Inglish, and be to

yees! I'll do the same for your dirthy self,"
retorted Teddy; "for it's not Teddy O'-
Laghorty as '11 be behind aven a nager in
liberalithies of that sort, now."

" You are both too liberal of your valor
by half," I rejoined, laughing at what I
thought would merely end in words.

But I was soon convinced of my error;
for scarcely had the expression left my
lips, when the Frenchman sprang from
his pony, and striking his hand on his pis-
tols, exclaimed:

*' Je I'attaquerai: 1 vill 'ave at you. Mon-
sieur, ven you do me von leetle honoor.

99

sare.

" It's liot long you'll have to wait, thin,"
cried Teddy; and before I could interfere
— or in fact was fully aware of what was
taking place — ^he had dismounted and
drawn a pistol.

" Tin paces, ye blaggard!" he cried;
"and may howly Mary be marciful to
yees!"

" Hold!" I shouted. " Rash men,%hat
are you about? I forbid "

Here I was interrupted by the reports
of two pistols, followed by a stifled cry of
pain from Pierre, who Instantly dropped
his weapon and placed his hand to his
shoulder. The next moment I was on my
feet, and rushing to his assistance, ac-
companied by Teddy, whose features, in-
stead of anger, now exhibited a look of
commiseration.

" Are you hurt, Pierre?" I inquired, as I
gained his side.

" Ver leetle scratch," replied the French-
man, taking away his hand covered with
blood.

I instantly tore away his garments, and
ascertained that the ball of Teddy had
passed quite through the fleshy part of his
arm near the shoulder, but without break-
ing a bone or severing an artery.

"A lucky escape, Pierre," I said.

He merely shrugged his shoulders, and
coolly proceeded to take snuff, with an in-
difference that surprised me. When he
had done, he turned to Teddy with:

" Vill you 'ave von more — ^vot you call
him — le plus grande satisfactione, eh?"

" Sure, and it's mesilf as is not over par-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

29

thicular inny ways. If ye's satisfied^ Pm
contint-^or conthrawise, as plases ye
most."

** Veil, then, suppose we shake hand,
eh?' rejoined Pierre. " I soot you — ^you
soot me. Ve 'ave both satisfactione,ehV*
and the nei^t moment these two singular
beings were pleasantly engaged in compli-
menting each other on his bravery.

O, curious human nature! From that
moment Pierre Boreaux and Teddy O'-
Lagherty were sworn friends for life—
nor did I ever hear an angry word pass be-
tween them afterwards.

CHAPTER V.

PASS FORT BOTS — THE SOT SPBINGS — A CAP-
ITAL JOKE — ^SUPERSTITION OF TEDDY —
" THE DIVIL'S TAE-POT" — A NIGHT AT-
JACK — STRATAGEM OF THE INDIANS FOIL-
ED BT PIERRE — FOE PUT TO FLIGHT — FOUR
SCALPS — A PACK OF WOLVES — IN DANGER
OF BEING DEVOURED — ^A DISMAL NIGHT OF
IT.

Pursuing our course along the banks of
the Walla-Walla, we passed Dr. Whit-
man's station, and camped the following
night in a romantic dell at the foot of a
ridge adjoining the Grand Round. In the
course of the evening we were visited by
several Indians, with whom we held a small
traffick for provisions. For fear of evil con-
sequences, we kept well on our guard, but
they displayed no hostile intentions.^—
Pierre complained somewhat of his arm,
which I had bandaged at the time as well
as circumstances would permit. I advised
him to consult the Indians, who are known
to be great proficients in the healing art.
He did so, and the result proved highly
beneficial; so much so, that he was able
to use it sooner than I expected.

The next day we crossed the Grand
Round, (a delightful valley of twenty miles
in extent, watered by a pleasant stream,)
also the Blue Mountains, and descended
into the valley of the Snake river. The
scenes we passed over were, many of
them, wild, and some of them romantic in
the extreme; but as more important mat-

ters press me, I cannot pause to describe
them. The Indians we now beheld on
every side of as — ^but they offered no viix
lence. The third day from crossing th«
Grand Round we reached Fort Bois, where
we passed the night.

The next morning we pursued' our jour-
ney, having learned, meantime, that Black
George, for whom I made particular in-
quiries, had passed here a few days before,
in company with two other trappers, on
I his way to Pojrt Hall. This was cheering
news to me, and we pushed forward as fast
as circumstances would permit, in the hope
of overtaking him.

About noon of the third day from leav-
ing Fort Bois, we came upon some half a
dozen fine looking springs, when Teddy
declared he must quench his thirst.

As he descended from his horse, the
Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and
gave me a very significant wink.

" What do you mean, Pierrel" I inquir-
ed, fully at a loss to ^comprehend what
seemed to him a capital joke.

" Paix! le diable!" he exclaimed, laying
his hand on my arm and pointing to Ted-
dy, who, having reached a spring, was just
in the «ct of bending down to the water.
" Monsieur sail see."

" See!" I repeated.

" Oui, Monsieur."

"What shall I seel"

"Och! howlymurther! be St. Pathrick!
jabers!" cried Teddy at this moment,
springing to his feet and running towards
us with all his fieetness, holding his tongue
with one hand, and pressing the other upon
his forehead. "Och! murther! I'm dead
intirely — bit — ate up — claan killed, I is!"

" What is the matter?" I inquired, un-
able ta comprehend the meaning of such
strange actions, while Pierre leaned for-
ward on his saddle and held both hands
upon his ribs, fairly screaming with laugh-
ter.

" Mather, is'tV rejoined Teddy. « Mu-
sha! but it's mather intirely. Me tongue's
burnt out of me, jist, barring about sax
inches on't."

« Burned, Teddyl"

•'Ay, burnt your honor — that's the
wor-r-rd, now. Svire, that's the divil's

so

lENI-LEOTn

pool, and so it is — aiid hell must be here-
abouts. Och! but I'm in a hurry to lave
the spot betimes;'* and springing into his
saddle he rode away, in spite of my calls to
the contrary, as fast as his beast could
carry him.

** What is it, Pierrel" I exclaimed; but
• Pierre was too much convulsed to answer
me; and dismounting, I approached -the
miraculous water myself.

Now I understood the joke; and to do
myself justice, I must say I so far imita-
ted the Frenchman, that I was unable to
quit the spot for at least ten minutes. In
his eager desire for a cool, refreshing
draught, Teddy had plunged his face into,
and gulped a mouthful of boiling water,
from what are known as the Hot Springs.
Of these there are some five or six, the
water of which bubbles op clear and spark-
ling, and, all meeting, form a small stream,
which rolls away with a pleasing murmur.
No wonder Teddy, not understanding the
phenomenon, and being superstitious too,
should imagine Old Nick had something
to do with it.

" Veil, you see, ehl" exclaimed Pierre,
as I remounted. " By gar! him von ver
moche good joke. He link him von dia-
ble, eh?" and he ended with another hear-
ty laugh, in which I was forced to join.

About three miles farther on we over-
took Teddy, whose running ardor had cool-
ed down to a quiet walk.

"Ah, faith!" said he, dolefully, "it's
mighty feared I's beginning to git, that
ye'd not come at all, at all."

« Why so, Teddyl"

" Oh, worra! wprra! that I should iver
live to taste the divil's pool! And did
ye sae him, body and bones, your honor]
—-and how did he look, if it's all the same
to yees, and he no forbid your tilling raa-
sonablyV

" Why, Teddy, there was nothing to be
alarmed at;" and I proceeded to explain
the mystery. " It is a very natural phe-
nomenon, I assure you."

"Nath'ral, is it? Och! thin I have it,
*pon me sowl!"

" Have whatr*

" Why sure, your honor, I sae claan
through it."

>f

" Well, what do ^ou see, Teddy?"

" Musha! but it's the divil's tae-pot.'

"Tea-poti"

"Ah! troth and it is. Ould Sathan is
at the bothom of it, does ye mind! He
haats the wather there, now, to coax saints
to dbrink tae wid him, the spalpeen! and
thin he'll make the most of 'em, d'ye sae,
your honor? Och! it's a lucky man Ted-
dy O'Lagherty is for gitting off so asy,
barring he's more unlucky by token he
wint to the place at all, at all."

It had become a fixed fact with Teddy,
which all my jests and arguments failed
to alter, that the Hot Springs and his Sa-
tanic majesty were indissolubly connected.
But this did not lessen the joke, which for
a lonsr time afterwards served Pierre and

en

myself as a specific for blue devils and
ennui.

As I said before, we were now travel-
ling through a country thickly peopled
with savages. What wc had seen of these
appeared to be friendly; but knowing the
treacherous nature of many, we felt that
self-preservation demanded we should at
all times be on our guard. For this pur-
pose, our arms were always ready to our
hands in the .day time, and at night each
took his turn of standing sentinel. Thus
far we had escaped all difficulty; but Pierre
often warned us not to be too sanguine of
reaching Fort Hall without a brush of
some kind, as he well knew the nature of
those surrounding us.

The sun was juFt sinking behind the
Blue Mountains, when we came to a small
stream — a tributary of Snake river — ^that
took its devious course through a valley
between two precipitous ridges, and thence
through a canon of a thousand feet in
depth. The valley was shaded by large
trees of various kinds, and was romantic
in its appearance. It contained good gra-
zing also, and good water, and this made
it a desirable camp-ground. Hobbling our
horses and setting them free, we kindled
a fire, around which we squatted to cook
our meat, smoke our pipes, and fill up the
intervals with the most amusing subjects,
among which Teddy and bis " divil's tae-
pot" came in for their full quota of mirth-
ful comment.

r

OR, ADVENTURKS IN THE PAR WEST.

31

At lensfth we began to grow drowsy,
and having seen our animals tethered
within the circle of the fire, and it being
Pierre's turn to stand guard, Teddy and I
threw ourselves upon the ground, our blan-
kets rolled around us, and soon were fast
asleep. For an hour or two every thing
passed off quietly, when Pierre awoke me
with a gentle shake.

" Ver sorre, Monsieur, to — ^vot you call
him^-decsturb you, eh]— but de tam Injen
— sacre le diable!"

" Well," said I, starting up, " what is iti
Are we attacked]" and at the same time I
woke Teddy.

" By gar!'**rcturned the Frenchman, " I
see von leetle — voi you call him — sneak-
er, eht Him creep— creep — creep— and I
tink I wake you, sare, and soot him, by
tam!"

"Faith, that's it!" cried Teddy, grasp-
ing his rifle and springing to his feet:
" That's it, now! Shoot the haathen!"
>/^ By this time I was fully aroused to the
sense of danger; and quickly learning
from Pierre where he had seen the savage,
I grasped my rifle and sprang beyond the
fire-light, in an opposite direction, followed
by my companions. We had not gained
ten paces, when crack, crack, went some
^VQ or six muskets, the balls of which,
whizzing over our heads, did not tend to
lessen our speed. However, we reached
the covert unharmed, and for the time con-
sidered ourselves safe. We turned to re-
connoiter, but not a sign of living thing
could wc see save our horses, which stood
with ears erect, trembling and snorting, as
if conscious of a hidden foe.

For an hour we remained }n this man-
ner, when, concluding the enemy had de-
parted, I proposed returning to the fire.

"Hist!" whispered Pierre, grasping my
arm. " You sail see, Monsieur."

And he was right; for not ten minutes
afterwards, he silently directed my atten-
tion to some dark objects lying flat upon
the ground, which, with all my experience
and penetration, I could not believe were
savages, until I perceived them gradually
near our horses. Then I became alarm-
ed, lest reaching them, they might speed-
ily mount and escape, leaving us to make

the best of a perilous and toHsome journey
on foot.

" What is to be done, Pierrel I fear
we are in a bad tn,^^

"Je me couche — je tire fur lui: I Ke
down, sare— I soot at him. You sail see.
Wait von leetle minneet. Ven you hears
my carton, den you soot and run at him as
le diable."

Saying this, Pierre glided away as noise-
lessly a& an Indian, and I saw nothin?
more of him for several minutes. Mean-
time, Teddy and I kept our eyes intently
fixed upon our stealthy foes, and our rifles
in rest, ready to give them their deadly
contents at a moment's warning. Slow-
ly, like a cat creeping upon her game, did
these half naked Indians, serpent-like,
steal towards our animals, every moment
lessening the distance between them and
the objects of their desires. I began to
grow nervous. What had become of
Pierre! If he intended to do any thing,
now I thought was the time. A few mo-
ments and it would be too late; and act-
ing upon this thought, 1 drew a bead upon
the most advanced savage, and was about
pulling the trigger, when the latter sud-
denly bounded to his feet, uttered a yell of
delight, and sprang towards the now fright-
ened animals, imitated in his manoeuver
by some ten or twelve others.

" Good Heaven! all is lost!" I exclaim-
ed, bitterly.

The words had scarcely passed my lipp,
when bang went a pistol from among the
horses; and the foremost savage — the one
I had singled out, and who was on tht*
point of grasping one of the tether ropes
— bounded up into the air, with a horrible
yell, and fell back a corpse. This was
wholly unlocked for by his companions, and
checked for an instant those pressing on
behind. Remembering Pierre's request,
I whispered Teddy to " throw" his man
and charge. Both our rifles spoke togeth-
er, and down tumbled two more. At the
same moment Pierre's rifle sent another to
his account; and simultaneously springing -
forward, all three of us made the welkin
ring with our shouts of joy and defiance.
This was the grand cowp de grace of the
night. The Indians were alarmed and be-

32

LENI-LEOTI:

wildered. They iiad counted on certain
success in stealing our horses without the
loss of a man. Four had fallen in as
many seconds; and fancying themselves
in an ambuscade, they turned, with wild
yells of aflfright, and disappeared in every
direction; so that by the time I had joined
Pierre, we were masters of the field, and
not an unwounded foe in sight.

"Y(A see boss safe. Monsieur," said
Pierre, hurriedly, as we met; *' and I see
to tarn Injen, eh!'' and without waiting a
reply, he darted forward, and the next mo-
ment was engaged in tearing off the bloody
scalps of the slain.

As every mountaineer considers this his
prerogative, I did not interfere, but order-
ing Teddy to assist me, cut the lariats and
led our horses back into the darkness, from
fear oC- another attack, in which we might
come out second best. In a few minutes
Pierre approached me leisurely, and laugh-
ingly said:

" Tout va bien: All pe veil, sare;" and
he held up to the light four bloody scalps.
*' Von, two, tree not pe dead, I kill him.
Good for — ^vot you call him — stealer, ehl
— ha, ha, ha!" and taking out his box, he
deliberately proceeded to take snuff with
his bloody fingers, adding, by way of ac-
companiment: "Von tam ver moche ex-
sallant joke him — ^ha, ha, ha! Sacre! me
tink him get von leetle tam — ^vot you call
him — astonishment, ehl By gar! ver
^oche good."

As we did not consider it prudent to
venture again within the fire-light, we de-
cided to remain where we were through
the night and guard against surprise. Ail
was dark around us, except in the direc-
tion of the roaring fire, which, flickering
to the passing breeze, made the scene of
our late encampment look dismal enough.
To add to its gloom and cheerlessness, we
were presently greeted with the distant
howl of a hungry pack of wolves. Every
moment these howls grew louder, showing
the animals were approaching the spot,
while our horses snorted and became so rest-
less we could scarcely hold them. Nearer
and nearer came the hungry beasts o(prey,
till at length we could perceive their fiery
eyeballs, and occasionally catch a glimpse <

of their bodies, as they hovered anmnd the
circle of the fire, fearing to approach the
carcasses they so much coveted.

For an hour or two they prowled and
howled around as, ** making night hideous
with their orgies," while the fire gradually
growing less and less bright, increased
their boldness accordingly.

At last one, unable to longer ' bear the
keen pangs of hunger, leaped forward and
buried his teeth and claws in the carcass
of one of our late foes. The others fol-
lowed his example, and in less than a
minute as many as fifty of these ravenous
animals were growling, fighting, gnashing
their teeth, and tearing the flesh from the
bones of the dead Indians.

Pierre now informed me we were in im-
minent danger of being attacked ourselves,
as, having once tasted blood, and their ap-
petites being rather sharpened than ap-
peased, they would only become more bold
in consequence. To my inquiry as to
what should be done, he replied that we
must continue to kill one of their number
as finst as he might be devoured by his
companions; and setting the example, he
shot one forthwith. Sure enough! no
sooner had the beast fallen, than the rest
sprang upon and devoured^ him. By that
time]| my rifle* was loaded, and I knocked
over another, which met the same fate. —
In this manner we kept firing alternately
for a couple of hours, during which time
the old stock was replenished by new
comers, until I began to fancy all of the
genus would be present before daylight.
But at last one after another got satisfied,
and slunk away licking his chops. No
new ones appeared, and ere the stars
grow dim, nothing was visible of the last
night's butchery but a collection of clean-
licked, shiny bones. While the fire last-
ed, we could see to take sight; but after
that went out, we fired at random; though,
knowing the exact location of the beasts,
our shots generally proved successful in
killing or wounding.

When morning again put a smiling face
upon the recent sable earth, we mounted
our horses and quitted the loathsome spot,
thanking God for our providential deliver-
ance.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

33

CHAPTER VI.

ARRIVE AT FORT HALL — FIND BLACK 6E0RGE
— ENLIST HIM WITH THREE OTHERS —
SOME HEWS 0£ FRAIRIE FLOWER — A
STORM — UNDER WAT — A TURBULENT
STREAM — DANGEROUS EXPERIMENT OF
PIERRE — ^ALL SAFE AT LAST.

It was a warm, pleasant afternoon in
Jane, tkat we came in sight of Fort Hall,
which we hailed with three cheers of de-
light; and setting spurs to our horses, in
less than half an hour we rode gaily with-
in the gates.

As we entered the area, which, though
much smaller, was fashioned like l^ort
Laramie, I perceived a small group of
mountaineers or trappers, among whom
were two or three Indians, all apparently
engaged in some important traffick. The
next moment I heard a well known voice
exclaim:

''It's done gone then, or I'm no snakes;
and heyar's what never backs for nobody
and nothin."

The next moment the speaker saunter-
ed toward me, just as I had dismounted from
ray horse. As he approached, he looked
me steadily in the face a moment, and
then springing forward with hand extend-
ed and flashing eyes, fairly shouted:

" Bosson — for a thousand wild-cats — I'll
be dog-gone ef 'tain't;" and ere the sent-
ence was concluded, ray hand was suffer-
ing under the powerful but welcome pres-
sure of that of Black George. " Well,"
he added, <* I'll be teetotally rumflumuxed,
ef I don't think you're a trump, and a ace o'
diamonds at that. Whar d'ye come from
now, and which way goin? ef it's not tal-
lied on a private stitk."

" Direct from Oregon City," I answered,
by no means backward in displaying my
delight at meeting him again.

« Whar's the gals]"

*' Left them all behind me."

" Augh! 'Spect you left your heart thar
too, ehV*

« Possibly."

" I'd swear it Well, boss, don't blame
ye. Them's about as nice human picters
as ever this nigger seed. Been thirty
jear younger, might hev got into deep wa-

ter thar myself, and lost the whole kit. —
Howsomever, this coon never tried treein
a gal but once't — and Suke Harris soon
blowed damp weather on to his powder,
and it wam't no shoot no how — augh! —
Well, well," he added, with something like
a sigh, ^Hhem's by-gones any how, and
'spect it's all for the best — 'case I'm an
old dog, and lead a wanderin life4 and
when I kind o' git rubbed out — why, ye
see, I haint got no pups nor nothin to be
a barkin over my last roost."

Here Black George coughed a little,
and turned aside his head, when his eye
chanced upon Teddy and Pierre, who, hav-
ing dismounted at another part of the en-
closure, were now approaching to join me.

" Why, hello, boss! how goes itl" con-
tinued the old trapper, addressing the Irish-
man, and extending his hand. '' And here's
Pierre too, lookin as nateral 's a young
cub; and I'll be dog-gone ef that same old
smell-box aint jest whar it used to was, a
reg'lar fortress, makin his fingers runners
'tween it and his nose. Augh! gin us a
chaw, and see the ginteel done."

" Faith! ye're the same ould chap," re-
joined Teddy, grasping one hand, while
the Frenchman took the other. " Sure,
an' it's good for sore eyes to s^ the likes
o' ye agin."

"Ah! Monsieur Blake Shorge," added
Pierre, " it give me von ver moche le plus
graade delight, for — ^vot you call him —
discoverment you, ehl Ver exceeding tarn
glad, by gar!"

As soon as the congratulations were
over on all sides, Black George turned to
me with:

" Well, Bosson, hearn any thing o' your
pardnerl"

" Nothing; and I am now on my way
to hunt him out, if among the living."

" A long tramp, and no beaver, or I'm
no prophet."

" You think it impossible for me to find
him, then?"

« Well, boss, it's hard sayin what's un-
possible; but I'd jest as soon think o' hunt-
in for a singed tail beaver, I would, and
odds on my side at that."

Here I entered into an explanation of
how he was lost, and wound up by asking:

34

LENI-LEOTI:

''And now do you do not think ir possi-
ble he was taken prisoner?**

•* Nothin agin it, as I knows on."

" And if taken prisoner by the Mexi-
cans, is it not possible — nay, more, is it
not probable — he was sold into slavery!"

" Why," replied Black George, who
seemed struck with this last suggestion,
*' I'll gin in it sort o' edges that way, that's
a fact — ril be dog-gone ef it don't! But
'spose it's all so — how's you to diskiver
him] — 'case it looks a heap mixed to this
child, to see it in the cl'arest light."

" That is just what I wish to know my-
self, and for that purpose have started on
the search—being the least, to my mind,
I could do under the circumstances."

" Then you're bound sothe'ard, *spose?'

"Exactly; and desire you to join me,
with three as good men as you can select."

" Ah, yes; but ye see, it's beaver time
now, and "

" I understand; but I am willing to pay
you as much as you could make in your
regular vocation."

" You is, heyl Well, come, now, that's
a sensible and feelin speech, and you
couldn't hev bettered the gist on't, ef you'd
a splattered it over with all the big words
as is English. I like a straight for'ard-
toe-the-mark way o' dealin — I'll be dogged
ef I don't! — and bein's I know you're a
gentleman — why, I'll jest tell ye I'm in,
ef it takes all my hair to put her through.
Besides, thar's a chance to raise hair, and
that's a sport as this nigger al'ayshad a na-
teral incline for. I've jest got in from
the Blues, and made a sale of some hides
— so I'm ready to travel and fight jest
when you speak it. Got any baccal"

"Can you raise me three more of the
right sort."

" I reckon."

" Do so; and we will start, if possible,
to-morrow morning."

" Well, that'll jest save me a big spree
— augh! I say, boys," he continued, draw-
ing from the pocket of his hunting shirt a
small canteen, " got the critter here — and
so spose we take an inside wet,ehl Spect
'twont hurt your feelins none;" and beset
an example which was very accurately
followed.

" By-the-by, George," said I, " have you
seen or heard any thing of Prairie Plow- '
er, since that night when she appeared,
gave the alarm, and disappeared so myste-
riously 1"

"Jest what Ps a-goin to ax you. No,
I haint never sot eyes on her purty face
sence; but I hearn a trapper, as come from
the sothe, say as he had seed her down to
Taos Way, and al) her Injins was along. —
She was axin hrm, now I come to remem-
ber, ef he'd heard o' a prisoner bein taken
that-a-ways and sold to the mines."

" Well, well, what did he reply V ex-
claimed I, as a sudden thought struck
me.

'"That he'd hearn o' several— but none
in partikelar."

" Heaven bless her! I understand it
all!"

" All whati" inquired Black George.

" Why, when I saw Prairie Flower last,
I informed her of the fate of Charles
Huntly; and ten to one she has set off to
search for him!"

"That's it, for my old muley!" cried
Black George, not a little excited. " I've
said afore she was, a angel, and heyar's a
possum what don't speak without knowin.
Lord bless her! I could love her like dar-
nation, jest for that. Ef she aint one on
'em, why was peraries made, heyl"

A few minutes more were spent in like
conversation, when Black George parted
from me to engage some companions for
our journey. Bidding Teddy look to our
horses, I entered the common reception
room of the fort, greatly elated at the in-
telligence just received. Sweet Prairie
Flower! She was doubtless at that very
moment engaged in an undertaking which
should have been performed by me long
before; and I could not but condemn my-
self, for what seemed either a great over-
sight or gross neglect of duty. And should
Heaven favor her, and she discover my
friend and set him free — what a debt of
gratitude would he owe her for saving him
twice! — ^first from death, and secondly from
a slavery worse than death. And should
this happen, what would be the result to
two beings, who, whatever might be out-
ward seemings, loved each other with a

r

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

passion strong, and, on the part of Prairie
Flower at least, imperishable! Sweet,
mysterious being! I could hardly realize
she was only mortal; for there was some-
thing in her every look, thought and deed,
which spoke a divinity— ^a something en-
nobled above mere frail humanity.

In the course of an hour, Black George
rejoined me, bringing with him three large
boned, robust, good looking fellows, who,
he informed me, were ready to follow me at
a fair remuneration. In a few minutes
every thing was settled, when each depart-
ed to make preparations for an early si art
on the morrow.

A storm, however, set in during the
night, which raged with such violence the
next morning, that I was feign to defer
my departure for twenty-four hours long-
er. To me the day wore tediously away;
for my mind was continually harping on
my lost friend and Prairie Flower; and
now that I had gained some intelligence
of the latter, I could not avoid connecting
the two, in a way to raise my hopes in a
great degree; and consequently Iwasdou^
bly anxious to be on the way.

But if the delay proved tedious to me,
not so was it with my companions; who had
a jolly time of it over their cups and cards,
and drank and played, till it became a se-
rious matter for them to distinguish an ace
of trumps from a gill of whisky.

However, the day went at last, as all
days will, and I was gratified the second
morning with a peep at old Sol, as he rose
bright and glorious in the east. I hasten-
ed to rouse my companions — who were
rather the worse for the previous day's in-
dulgence, but who turned out as well as
could be expected, all things considered —
and in a short time we were all mounted
and in motion, a goodly company of seven.

Shaping our course southward, a couple
of hours' brought us to Port Neuf river,
which we found very turbulent from the
late storm, and in consequence very diffi-
cult to cross. After examining the banks
for some distance, and finding no good
ford, we determined on swimming it. This
was no easy undertaking; for the current
ran very swift, and loudly roared, as its
flashing but muddy watera dashed furious-

ly against the rocks, which here and there
reared their ugly heads, as if with a half
formed intention of damming and forcing
it to another channel.

" Monsieur," said Pierre to me, as
we stood hesitating what to do; " you see
totherbank, ehV*

I nodded assent.

" Sacre! by tam! now I tell you me like
him. I sail 'ave von grande satisfactione
of put my foot dere— -or I sail be von-'—
by gar! vot you call him—Klead wet hom-
me, eh?'

As he spoke, he spurred his horse for-
ward, and the next moment the fiery animal
was nobly contending with an element,
which, in spite of his striiggles, rapidly
bore him down on its bosom, while his ri-
der, as if to show his utter contempt for
danger, sat erect on his back, coolly en-
gaged in taking snufi^.

" H !" exclaimed Black George,

with a grin. " Ef thar aint that old smell-
box agin! Ef ever he goes under, he'll
do it with a sneeze. Augh!''

"Sure, and it's thro ublesome he finds
the wather now, I'm thinking," observed
Teddy.

" Good heavens! he is indeed in difficul-
ty!" I exclaimed. "Quick! let us ride
down the bank and be prepared to give
him aid."

And in fact our aid came none too soon;
for the stream had borne both rider and
horse down to a narroj^^ channel, where
the water rushed furiously over the rocks,
and being partially obstructed below, form-
ed an eddy or whirlpool of a very danger-
ous character, in which the beast was
floundering and vainly striving to reach
either bank. By this time Pierre had be-
come aware of his danger, and was exert-
ing his utmost skill to keep his seat, and
guide his animal safely out of the fearful
vortex. Just below him was a narrow
canon, of considerable depth, and at its
farther termination a slight fall, where the
water seethed and foamed with great vio-
lence, after which it became comparatively
tranquil, as it spread out on a broad level,
to again concentrate its greatest force at
a point still below. As we reached the
bank along side of the guide, we all dis-

36

LENI-LEOTI:

mounted, when Black George leaping up-
on a steep roek overhanging the stream,
instantly threw him a rope which he had
selected for the purpose. Pierre <caught
one end of it eagerly, and fearing to re-
main longer where he was, instantly aban-
doned his horse and plunged into the wa-
ter. The next minute we had drawn him
ashore, though not entirely scatheless, as
the whirling current had several times
thumped him against the rocks, and bruis-
ed his limbs and body in several places.

Pierre, however, seemed to care more
for his horse than himself; and no sooner
had he found a safe footing on terra Jirma,
than giving himself a shake, he cried —
" Mine boss, by gar!" and darted away tp
the rescue of the unfortunate brute, which
was now being hurried against his will
through the canon. We all followed Pierre
down the stream, but ere we gained the
tranquil part of the river before spoken of,
the animal had passed safely over the falls,
and, with a joyful whicker, was now fast
swimming to the shore, where he was soon
caught by his owner, who expressed his
joy in sundry shouts and singular antics.

"Ah! sacre!" cried the Frenchman, as
he remounted his gallant pony, shaking
his^hand with an air of defiance at the
heedless river: " I sail 'ave von le plus
satisfactione again try you tarn drowning;"
and no sooner said, than he spurred into
the liquid element, and succeeded, after
some difficulty, in gaining the opposite
shore, an example we all safely imitated.

We now struck one of the most north-
ern points of the Bear River Mountains;
and for the rest of the day pursued our
course without accident, over steep ridges,
through dangerous defiles, dense thickets,
deep gorges and ravines, past yawning
chasms, and all the concomitants of wild,
mountain scenery. Sometimes we stood
on a point which commanded an extensive
view of a country of great beauty and
grandeur — where the soul could expand
and revel amid the unchanged fastnesses
of a thousand years — and anon we were
completely hidden from the sight of any
thing but the interwoven shrubbery,
through which we diligently labored our

around which grew a limited circle of ex-
cellent grtos, presenting the appearance of
a spot, which, at some remote period, had
been oaltivated. Here we encamped, built
a fire, ate our suppers, and slept to the mu-
sic of howling wolves.

CHAPTER VIL

BEAR EIVER MOXrKTAINS — ^BEAR RIVER —
TRAPPING — REMARKS 05 THE TRAPPERS
— ^A STAMPEDE — ALARM — FLIGHT — ^MORE
SCARED THAN HURT — THE JOKE OH ME —
STAND TREAT.

It is unnecessary to weary the reader
with farther detail of mountain life. Un-
less in cases of extreme peril, from sav-
ages or wild beasts, the scenes are monot-
onous; and enough I think has already
been recorded to give a correct idea of life
as it is, with all its dangers ai^ hardships,
beyond the boundaries of civilization. —
I may therefore be permitted to press for-
ward — annihilate -time and space— only
pausing occasionally to give something-
new or out of the regular routine of every
day adventure.

It was my intention on leaving Fort
Hall, to make the best of my way toward
Taos — a small Mexican village, much fre-
quented by mountaineers, situated in the
country of Texas, on the western side of
an arm of the Green Mountains, some fif-
ty or sixty miles north of Santa Fe, luid
on a small tributary of the Rio Grande.
This was to be my first destination, and
Wvere I was in hopes to gain some intel-
ligence of my friend, from the many ad-
venturers there collected — ^the travelling
representatives of all the territories as
well as Mexico. It was possible, too, I
might fall in with Leni-Leoti (which the
reader will bear in mind is the Indian
name of Prairie Flower) and her tribe,
from whom I had sanguine expectations of
gaining some information, either good or
bad. If Prairie Flower had, as I inferred
from what Black George imparted, actual-
ly been in search of Charles Huntly, I
could at once gain the result and extent of
way. At last we came to a fine spring, | her operations, and shape my own acoord-

/

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

3T

disrly* With this view of the matter, as
may readily be supposed, I felt no little
anxiety to see her; and on no route, to my
thinking, would I be more likely to find
her, than on the one I had chosen and was
now pursuing.

Making the best of our way over the
hills, we struck the Bear river on the third
day from leaving Fort Hall. This river,
which takes its rise in the very heart of
the mountain range to which it gives
name, presents the curious phenomenon
of a stream running advise ways, and
nearly parallel to itself, for a distance of
from one to two hundred miles. Begin-
ning, as just stated, in the very center of
the Bear River Mountains, it dashes away
northward on its devious course, for a hun-
dred and fifty or two hundred miles, and
then, encircling a high ridge with the bend
of an ox-bow, runs southward nearly the
same distance, enlai^ing with numerous
tributaries, and empties at last into the
Great SaI%>Lake, within Mty or seventy-
five miles of its own head waters. For-
merly this stream was much resorted to by
trappers, who here found beaver very nu-
merous, and mountain game in abundance.
Beaver dams, in process of decay, may
here and there be seen at the present day,
and, at rare intervals, a thriving settle-
ment of the little fellows themselves; but,
as Black George remarked with a sigh of
regret:
*' It aint what it used to was, no how."
Soon after we had camped, Black George,
who ever had an eye to business, started
out in search of game, and soon returned
with the intelligence that " beaver sign
was about," and forthwith proceeded to get
his traps, which he had brought along in
his possibles.

" What are you going to dol" I inquired.

** Make 'em come, boss — nothin short."

As I had never witnessed the modus

operandi of catching beaver, I expressed

a desire to do so, which was responded to

with:

<*Come on, Bosson, and Pll put ye
through."

Taking our way to the river, which was
here rather shallow, Black George led me
down some two hundred yards, and then

directed my attention to some small tracks
made in the muddy bottom of the stream^
along 'the margin of the water.

*< Them's the sign, d'ye see! and thar's
fur about, sartin,or this nigger don't know
beaver."

Saying this, the old mountaineer pro-
ceeded to set his traps, of which he had
some &ve or six. Moistening a small stick
in his <* medicine," as he termed it — an
oily substance obtained from a gland of
the beaver— -he futened it to the trap, and
then placed the latter in the *< run" of the
animal, just u^der the edge of the water,
securing it to a sapling on the bank by a
small cord. Another cord led off from the
trap several feet, and was attached to a
" floating stick" — so called from its float-
ing on the water — ^by which appendage
the trapper, in case the beaver caught
makes off with his property, is enabled to
recover iti ^

<* And now," said I, when he had done,
** what inducement has the animal to be-
come your victimi"

'' Why he gits to be my meat you
meani"

« Exactly."

♦* Well, I'll jest explanify — ^though may-
be ril not git it out as scientiferic nor
some folks— for's I said sometime ago, edi-
cation never come in this child's line. —
Ye see, it's jest this: Beaver's like I've
beam say women-folks was. He's got an
orful cur'osity, and it gits him into bad
snaps without his intendin it. Ye see,
he'll come along here arter a while, and
he'll smell that thar * medicine,' and think
maybe thar's another beaver about»-least-
wise he'll want to know purty bad — and
so he'll come smellin round, and afore he
knows it, ' he's put his foot in't,' and is a
gone beaver. Augh!" •^

Having delivered himself of this, Black
George coolly continued his operations,
till all his traps were set, and then togeth-
er we returned to our camp. On arriving,
I found that the beaver mania h«4 taken
possession of Black G^orge^ eompanions,
who were in consequence ahjeejigit wjtlb li]b:e
sinister designs against the biir<Dle99 Utti«
fellows.

On returning with the old mountaineer

38

LENI-LEOTI:

y

in the morning, I soon discovered he had
•* made a raise," as he expressed it, " of
three old 'uns and a kitten.'* The other
trappers were somewhat successful also;
so that on that fatal night, no le&s than a
dozen beaver lost their " run" forever.
V Before raising camp, my mountain friends
proceeded to skin the animals, scrape the
inside of the pelts of fat and all superflu-
ous matter, and then stretch them on hoops
for drying — after which they were ready
for packing. This latter is done by 'turn-
ing the fur inside, putting several togeth-
er and fastening them with cords, when
they are tightly pressed into the possibles
of the trapper, and thus conveyed on mules
t to the rendezvous-market, sometimes one
place and sometimes another.

The labor of the trapper is very severe,
and his perils without number. Some-
times he traps on his own account — alone,
or with two or three associates — and some-
times for a company. In the first instance,
his cognomen is the " free trapper;" in the
last, the "hired hand." In either case,
however, his hardships are the same. He
sets off to the mountains, as soon as the
spring rains are over, and there generally
remains till the approaching storms of au-
tumn drive him to winter quarters, where
his time is spent in all kinds of dissipa-
tion to which he is accessible. It he
make a fortune in the summer, he spends
it in the winter, and returns to his voca-
tion in the spring as poor as when he
started the year previous; and not un fre-
quently worse off; for if a " free trapper,"
ten to one but he sacrifices his animals in
some drunken, gambling spree, and is for-
ced to go out on credit, or as a " hired
hand." He braves all kinds of weather
in his business, and all kinds of danger,
from the common accidents of the moun-
tains, to his conflicts with wild beasts,
and wilder and more ferocious savages.
But he is a philosopher, and does not mind
trifles. So he escape with a whole skin,
or even with life, he looks upon his hardr
ships, encounters and mishaps, only as so
much literary stock* to be retailed out to
his companions over a warm fire, a euchre,
deck, and a can of whiskey.
Se.eking the best beaver regions^, he

scans carefully all the rivers, creeks an^
rivulets in the vicinity for " beaver sign,*^
regardless of danger. If he find a tre4
across a stream, he gives it close attend
tion, to ascertain whether it is there bjff
accident, by human design, or whether i^
is " thrown" by the animal of his searchJ
for the purpose of damming the water. I^
the first or second, he passes on; if the
last, he begins his search for the " run of
the critter." He carefully scrutinizes all
the banks and peers under them for " bea-
ver tracks." If he find any, his next ex-
amination is to ascertain whether they are
" old" or « fresh." If the latter, then his
traps are set forthwith, in the manner al-
ready shown.

In his daily routine of business, he not
unfrequently encoun^|ts terrible storms of
rain or snow — the former sufficient to de-
luge him and raise rivulets to rivers— and
the latter to bury him, without almost su**
perhnman exertions, far from mortal eye,
and there hold hflh to perish, ^ '

" Unwept, unhonored, and unsung."

These are the least of his dangers. He
is often attacked by wild beasts, when no-
thing but his presence of mind, his cool-
ness and good marksmanship, can extri-
cate him from his difficulty; and yet he
rarely fails to come off conqueror. Es-
caping these, he must be continually on
his guard against his worst foe, the wily
Indian; so that he can never approach a
bush with the surety that a treacherous
ball may not put n close to his mortal ca-
reer, and all his hard earnings pass into
the hands of an enemy he ever hates with
the bitterness of concentrated passion. —
With all these dangers, and hardships, and
vicissitudes, your hona fide trapper loves
his calling, would not be contentto follow
any other, and is in general a rough, jolly,
dare-devil sort of fellow, who not unfre-
quently attains to the appointed age of
man, and at last " goes under" with all
the stoicism of a martyr,

" With not a stone, and not a line, .

To tell he e'er had been." v

Continuing our course, but in a more
easterly direction, we at length quitted
the mpvintains and descended to a largai

OR, Xdventures in the far west.

39

beautiful, rolling prairie, with little or no
vegetation but short buffalo grass. Tak-
ing our way over this, we had been about
half a day out, and wer^ beginning to lose
sight of the lower ranges of bills, when
we heard a deep rumbling, like heavy
thunder or a distant earthquake, and our
guide came to a sudden halt, exclaiming:

"Le diable!"

*' Howly jabers! what is it, now]" cried
Teddy.

"Hist!" exclaimed Black George. "I'll
be dog-gone ef I don't think we're chaw-
ed up this time, sure as sin!"

« What is itV I echoed.

"Von grande stampede, by gar!" an-
swered Pierre.

" Stampede of what, I prayl"

" Bufiler," replied^l^kck George, senten-
tiously.

"Where are theyl"

" Yonder they is now — here-a-ways they
soon will Ute;" and as he spoke, be pointed
over the pl«n with his Ager.

Following the direction with my eyes,
I beheld in the distance a cloud of dust,
which rolled upward like a morning fog,
through which, and in which, I could occa-
sionally catch a glimpse of the huge ani-
mals, as they bounded forward with rail-
road velocity.

" What is to be donel" I cried.

" Grin and bear it," responded the old
trapper.

" But we shall be trodden to death. See!
they are coming this way!"

" Can't die younger," was the cool re-
joinder.

" But can we not flyl"

" Howly mother of Mary!" shouted
Teddy, worked up to a keen pitch of ex-
citement; "it's fly we must*, sure, as if
the divil was afther us, barring that our
flying must be did on baasts as have no
wings, now, but long legs, jist."

" What for you run, ehT" grinned the
Frenchman. "Him catche you, by gar!
just so easy as you catche him, von leetle,
tam — ^vot you call him— -musquito, ehl"

"It's no use o' showing them critters
backs," rejoined Black George.—.

our

** Heyar's what don't turn b^k on nothin
that's got hair," '

" Well," continued I, " you may do as

you please; but as for myself, I have no
desire to stand in my tracks and die with-
out an eflTort."

Saying this I wheeled my horse, and was
just in the act of putting spura to him,
when Black George suddenly dashed up
along side and caught my bridle.

"See heyar, boy — don't go- to runnin
— or you'll discomflumicate yourself ou-
daciously — you will, by ! Eh, Pierre]"

" Certainment, by gar!" answered the
guide; and then both burst into a hearty
laugh.

" What do you mean]" cried I in aston-
'ishment, unable to comprehend their sin-
gular actions; and I turned to the other
mountaineers, who were sitting quietly on
their horses, and inquired if they did not
think there was danger.

" Thar's al'ays danger," replied one, " in
times like this; but thar's no safety in
runnin."

" For Heaven's sake, what are we to
do, then] Stay here quietly and get run
over!"

Black George gave a quiet laugh, and
the Frenchman proceeded to take snuff.
This was too much for my patience. I
felt myself insulted, and jerking away my
rein from the hand of the trapper, I ex-
claimed indignantly:

" I do" not stay here to be the butt of
any party. Teddy, follow me!"

The next moment I was dashing over
the prairie at the full speed of my horse,
and the Irishman, to use a nautical phrase,
close in my wake, whooping and shouting
with delight, at what he considered a nar-
row escape. The direction we had taken
was the same as that pursued by the run-
ning buffalo; and we could only hope for
ultimate safety, by reaching some huge
tree, rock, or other obstacle to their pro-
gress, in advance of them. How far we
would have to run to accomplish this, there
was no telling; for as far as the eye could
reach ahead of us, we saw nothing but the
same monotonous, rolling plain. The
herd, thundering on in our rear, was so
numerous and broad, that an attempt to
ride out of its way, by turning to the right
or left, could not be thought of— «s the ve-

40

LENI-LEOTI:

locity of the animals would be certain to
bring a wing upon up, ere we could clear
their lines. There was nothing for it,
then, but & deai race; and I will be free
to own, the thought of this fairly chilled
my bloods fi^posed as I had been to all
kinds of danger, I had never felt more
alarmed and depressed in spirits than now.
What could my companions mean by their
indifference and levity? Was it possible
that, havii^ given themselves up for lost,
the excitement had stupified some, and
turned the brains- of others! Horrible
thought! I shuddered, and turned oh my
horse to look back. There they stood
dismounted, rifles in hand, and, just beyond
them, ^e mighty host still booming for*
ward. Poor fellows! all hope with them
is over, I thought; and with a sigh at their
fate, I withdrew my gaze and urged on my
ateed.

On, on we sped, for a mile or more,
when I ventured another look behind' me.
Judge Of my surprise, on beholding a long
line of buffalo to the right and left, rush-
ing away in different directions, while di-
rectly before me, nothing was visible but
my friends, who, on perceiving me look
back, made signs for me to halt and await
them. I did so, and in a few minutes they
came up laughing.

'* Why, 3o8son," said Black Creorge,
waggishly, "I hope as how you've run the
sheer out e' ye by this time; for I'll be
dog-gone cf you can't travel a few, on per-
tikelar occasions!"

** Oui, Monsieur/' added Pierre, " vous
•ave von le plus grande— vot you call him
— ^locomotion, ekJ"

'' But how, in the name of all that is
wonderful, did you escapeV rejoined I.

" Just as nateral as barkin to a pup,"
answered Black George. " We didn't
none on us hev no fear no time; and was
only jest playin possum, to see ef we could
make your hak stand; never 'speclin,
though, you was a-goin to put out and
leave us."

" But pray tell me how you extricated
yoifffS^lves?" said I, feeling rather crest-
fallen at my recent unheroic display.

« Why jest as easy as shootin — and jest
tkat» boss, and nothin else."

« Explain yours^f."

** Well, then, we kind o* waited till then
critters got up, so as we could see thar
peepers shine, and .then we aU burnt pow-
der and tumbled over two or three lead-
ers. This sheered ikem as was behind,
and they jest sniffed, and siMurted, and sot
off ayther ways like damation. It warnt
any thing wonderful — thfit warnt — and it
'ud been onnateral for 'em to done an]^
thing else."

«I say, your honor,"' rejtoined Teddy,
with 41 significant Wink,' ^ it's like, noW|
we've Qfltade jaekasseyo'ourselvea, barring
your honor."

- ** Very like," returned I, biting iny^ lips
with vexation, '' all but the barring."

The truth is, i felt much as one caught
in a mean act, and I |K^kl have given no
sihali ei^m to have had the joke on some
one else. I detected ma^y a quiet smile
curling the lips of my companions, when
they thought I did not notice Jbemi and I
knew by this th^ were laughing in their
sleeves, as the saying is; but, being in my
service, did not care to kritate my feelings
by a more open display. It is very gall-
ing to a sensitive person to know he has
made himself ridiculous, and Is a private
subject of jest with his inferiors. It is no
use for one under such circumstances to
fret, and fbam, and show temper. No!
such things only make the. matter worse.
The best way is to come out boldly, own
to the joke, and join in the laugh « Act-
ing upon this, I said:

" Friends, I have made a fool of myself
— I am aware of it — and you are at liberty
to enjoy the joke to its full extent. But
remember, you must not spread it! and
when we reach a station, consider me your
debtor for a * heavy wet* all round."

This proved a decided hit. All laughed
freely at the time, and that was the last I
heard of it, till I fulfilled my liquor pledge
at Uintah Fort, when Black George ven-
tured the toast, ** Bufiier and a run," which
was followed by roars of mirth at my ex-
pense, and. there the matter ended*

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

41

CHAPTER VIII.

▲ BEATTTlFrL VALLBT — ^A LEGEKD — THE OLD
TRAFFER'S story — FATE OF BEN ROSE —
REFLECTIONS — TEDDY'S ACCOUBUT OF HIM-
SSLT — BEATH OF HFS PARENTS -— THE
•* OULD PRAAST" — ^HIS FIRST LOVE — ^THE
-WAY HE CAME TO LEAVE tB.^JLV
ALARMIIIG OHBBT OF IRmANS.'

' P^ssingf Uintah Fort, whicK awakened
fnany painful recoHeclions of what had
occurred since my former Visit ^ere in
-company with my lost friend, w^ took a
Boutlierly course, and crossingf Green river,
coAtinned over an undulatisg, mountain-
ous country to Grand river, and thence to
the most northern' -range of the Green
Mountains, where gush forth the head wa-
ters of the Arkansas and *Rio Grande:-*-
Here we came to a beaqtifu) valley, «hut
in hy high hiUs, through which flowed a
limpid stream, whose banks wore a velvtet
covering of rich green grass -and innum-
erable Wild flowers. A little back 'from
the stream, on either side, was* a delight-
fit grove, stretching away in rows of Ar-
tificial regularity. In fact, from what I
saw, and the information € ^thered from
ray compagnons d* voyage, I htve every rea-
son to believt this valley- was at one time
4 nobleman's park. I said it was shut in
by bills; but there was one outlet toward
the west, where the streamlet flowed gent-
ly away between two ridges. Entering
through this pass, you are struck with the
singular beauty oC the «pot; and not more
so than by a huge pile of ruins on a gen-
tle eminence away to the right. Here; as
tradition goes, once stood a famous castle,
belonging to a Spanish nobleman, who,
for some state intrigue, was exiled bis
country, but who subsequently flourished
here in great power.) He had a. beautiful
daughter,' to whom a descendent of the
Aztecs 'paid €oupt; but neither the father
nor the daughter fancied him, and his suit
was rejected. Enraged at this, he swore
revenge; and possessing power and influ-
ence over a barbarous race, he succeeded
by bribes and treachery in accomplishing
hvB fell design. The lord of the castle,

,iHR daughter and attend|tnt0» all fell vie-

3

tims; and the mighty stnictnre, touched
by the devastating fingers of Time, at last
became a heap of ruins. Such is a brief
outline of the tradition, which I gtve for
th^ benefit of future romancers.

As we entered this ancie|}t 'retreat, the
bright sun of a. hot July day was just be^
ginning to dip below the line of the west-
ern horizon, and bis -yellow light streaiBp
ing along the surfSace of the meandering
waters, gave them the appearanoe of ^a
long stream of molten,> quivering gold. —
Every thing in and about the place seemed
to possess the charm of enchantment.
Beautiful and merry songsters,of all hues,
warbled sweet tones among the branches
of the . trees, or amid the tall grass and
flowers beneath ' them. Here and thera
small animals of thehare species might be
seen running to and fro, while the- waters
of the rivulet occasionally displayed the
shiny 'Sides of a mountain trput. Take 4t
all in all,«to 'me the place seemed ar second
Eden; and when I turned my eyes upon •
the old ruins, my imagination at once car-
ried me far back into the dark ages of the
past, and< the strange tales I had heard >
seemed literally enacting before >me»

^< Thar's been aheap o' blood «pil there-
a-ways, take one time with another,*' ob-
served Black George, as, with our pipes in .
our mouths, we sat round the camp-fire in
the evening.

« Paith! and it's mesilf, now," said Ted-
dy, '* that'ud be afther saaing the spot as .
hasnt been ^kewise, in this faaathinish ;
part of Christhendom."

" Oui, • Monsieur Teddy," rejoined the
Frenchman. <'Ha, ha! by gar sacrel dat
pe ver nice spoke»— ver nice. You sail
make von moche grande — vot you call
him— oratore, eh!"

"But tell us what you know,^* said I,
addressing the old trapper, whom I was
anxious to draw out in one of his marvel-
ous tales.

'" Well, boss j^ I'll gin ye the gist of a
spree I once bad here, ef Teddy'U agree •
to tell a story when I'm done."
•« What say you^ Teddy?*'
*< Och, now, it's not me moth^s child j
as was iver blist wid the gift of gab; but r.

to make the time slip ofi^ asy, I'll do me.o

42

LENI-LEOTI:

trying of it, rather thin lose that of Mifr*
ther Black George, burring that I'd lose
what I niyer had, and that 'ud be lost twice,
d'ye mind!"

« As how, Teddyl"

*^ Why, yonr honor, and sure wouldn't I
lose the hearing the story towld, and the
story itsilf besides? and, troth, wouldn't
that be two? and isn't two twice, now?"

** Very good for you; but come. Black
George, go on with the tale!"

Here the old meuntaineer took out his
pipe, knocked out the ashes, put some of
;the weed into his mouth, and after twisting
and turning himself into a comfortable po-
sition, thus began:

<* Thar'fl none o' ye here, I spect, as
knowed Ben Bose; and the more's the
pity; for Ben was a screamer, he was,
.right out and out. He could eat more
huffier meat, drink more whisky, chaw
more baoca,cuss louder and tell bigger
lies, nor any white nigger this coon ever
^eed — and that's a dog-gone fact. Maybe
you think as how I exaggertate; but I ken
jest prove all I've said apd more too. Why,
iWe seed Ben afore now, when his meat
bag war right smart empty, chaw up half
a huffier, all wet down with about two gal-
Jon o' whisky, and then swear till all the
ftrees round him 'ud git the ager, that ef
he didn't git somethin to eat soon, he'd
rhev to go a wolfin with starvation. And
as for ]yin-*^0 he could tell sich lies, could
Sen, and swear to 'end so parfict, that
though you knowed all the time they was
lies^ you'd sort o' b'lieve 'em, and wouldn't
^eare to do nothin else; for you'd kind o'
jsay to yourself, ef they aint facts they ort
to be, and that's the same thing. Why
Ben used to tell sich almighty lies and
stick to ^em so long, that he'd git to be-
lieving ^em himself, he would — and then
he'd quit 'em; for he war never knowed to
tell any thing as he suspicioned bein true
ef he could help it. The only time this
child ever hearn him tell a fact, was onc't
in a joke, when h^ seid he was the biggest
liar on arth; but he made up for that right
purty, by swearin the next minuet he'd
never told a lie in his life.

"But whar am I gittin to! Well, ye
seft by this, that Ben was one of the boys.

he was, and nothin else. Poor feller! he
went under at last like a sojer. He gin
in the pint right out thar-a-ways, whar ye
see the light shinin on that big tree."

" Ah! then he died here?"

"Well he did," said the old trapper
with a sigh; " but he died game, and that's
ittthin. It's how he went out I'm goin
to 'lighten ye; but I'm goin to make the
story short, for somehow these here old
byogones makes me feel watery like, and
I never had much incline for water, no
how. Augh!

" Ben was purty much of a gentleman,
any how, and me and him, when we'd
meet, used ta come together like two
pieces o' wax, and stick to each other like
damation, ef not more. The last time I
ever seed Ben, I got on his < run' jest back
here a few mile. He was jest makin his
tracks out from Taos, and this coon war
jest croesin over from Bent's Fort. Me
and him had two mulpys apiece, and was
both goin out aknie, and happened to meet
jest whar two trails jine. -

" * How is ye?' sez he, ' and whar bound?'

<< < Why I'm some,' I sez back agin^' and
out for a venter.'

"<Je8t from Bent's V

" • No whar el^e, boss.'

"'I'm from Taos. Let's splice and
double the game. Augh!'

" So we jined in, and went talkin 'bout
this thing and that, and tryin which could
out lie tother, till we got to this here val-
ley and camped.

" * What d'ye think o' this place, any
how?' sez he.

" * I reckon it's a few,' sez I.

" * D'ye ever see any ghosts* here?' sez
he.

" * Never, boss.'

" ' I hev,' sez he. < 1 was campin here
one night, and'd jest got ready to blind my
daylights, when I happ'd to cast one over
thar to that old castle, and may I be sot
down for. a liar, ef I didn't see a live
ghost standin right on that big pile, all
dressed in white, and lookin oriul serious
rifrht at me. At fust I tried to think it a
opterkal collusion,' sez he; ^ but then I
knowed rightoff that ef I didn't see that
I didn't see nothin; and ef I didn't see

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

43

nothin, what in •— *- did I see? Well,
arter squintin at it,' he sez, < till my eye-
kiyen got so heavy I had to put splinters
tinder 'em to prop 'em up, I Vis up on to
my travellin pins, and sot oat on a explore j
to see ef 'twas the ghost of a white man
or nigger. On that,' sex he, 'the ghost
got miffed, and makin jest one step, stood
right plnm heeide me."

** * Ben Bose,' sex the ghost, < I want
you.'

" * And so does the devil,' sez Ben.

« « Well, I'm him,' ses the ghost; and
at that Ben sez the thing jest turned black
in the face, and looked orful skeerful.

« * Hadn't you better wait till I git rea-
dy 1' axed Ben.

" * No,' sez the old chap, * I want you
now;' and at that Ben sez he took hold on
him, and his fingers felt hot as burnt pitch.

<<< Well,' sez Ben, * I jest clinched into
him, and sich a tuzzle you never seed. Fust
me and then Brimstone, and then Brim-
stone and me, for two mortal hours. But,
by hokey ! I licked,' sez Ben, ' and the fel^
ler mosied with a flea'n his ear, and his
tail hangin down like a Ucked puppy's.'

" Now, boys," continued Black George,
** as I've said afore, Ben was the all-fired-
est liar on arth, or else I might a b'lieved
suthin o' this; for he hadn't but jest done
spinnin it, when bang, bang, bang — whizz,
whizz, whizz — yeahup! yeaho! whirp!
come ringin in our ears, as ef the arth was
all alive with shootin niggers — ^and that's
a scripter, dog-gone fact, as I'm a gentle-
man ! (Somebody gfn me a chaw. Thankee !
Old by-gbnes starts the juice — augh!)

" * O the infarnals!' sez Ben, jumpin up
and showin blood on his noddle. Tm
dead meat, sartin. But I'll hev company
along,' sez he; and he ups and blazes
away, and thro wed the nigh one, as was
comi^i up, right purty.

" * Two on 'em,' sez I, * fof a pint;' and
aid Sweet-love gin the second one the
belly-ache, instanter.

* * Now let's dodge,' se4 Ben, * and keep
our hair;' and with that he grabbed hold o'
me, and both on us put oiitfor the hilld.

" But Ben 'ud got a settler, and fell lop-

-heavy .^ He travelled 'bout fifty yard, with

my arm in his'n, and five yellin devils

close behind us, and then he pitched on to
me, and said he'd got to quit, and uced me
to lift his hair"^ and keep it from tne cuss-
ed niggers. I hated to do it like darna-
tion— but thar wasn't no help. Ef I didn't,
the skunks would; and so I outs with my
butcher, and off come his scalp af(H*e you
could say beans. ^"^

"'Thankee,' sez Ben. ""Oood-by, old
boss, and put out, or you^l lose two on
'em.'

" I knowed he war right, and though I
hated to quit, I seed thar was no help, and
I started for the old castle yonder, fodderin
Sweet-love as I went. I hadn't got fur,
when I knowed by the yell the rascals had
come up to him. They 'spected to make
a raise thar,. and two stopped fo!P hts fur,
and the rest followed me. Ben was cun^
in though, and they didn't never tell what
happ'd — them fellers didn't-^ru be dog^
gone ef they did! Ben kind o' played
possum, and they thought he was gone
under, and so while they was foolin thar
time, Ben had his eye skinned, butnt his
pups't powder, and !^rowed both on 'em
cold right hah'some, and then turned over
and kicked the bucket himself. I man-
aged to plug ahother jest about then, and
the other two scamps sot off, instanter, for
a more sal-u-bri*ous climax — they did —
and ef you'd ohly seed 'em streak it, you'd
a thought lightnih warn't no whar. Why,
jest to tell the clean truth, I'll be dog-
gone ef they didn't travel so fast, that a
streak o' fire followed 'em, and the animals
as had been snoozin on thar way, waked
up and looked out, and concluded the arth
was burnln most conscrimptiously, and so
they put out airter them same flyin nig-
gers. Fact, by Judas! and ef you don't
b'lieve it, you ken jest bile me for a per*
Simmon and no Questions axed."

" O, of course," said I, as Black George
paused and looked around trfumphantly^
" we all believe itj and I should like to see
the man that would not."

" Faith, now,'^ chimed in Teddy, tipping
me the wink, " the man that wouldn't be-
lave all that asy, wouldn't belave that the

^'Take his soalp.
tPiatoU.

M

ijaNI-LEOW:

^oo]>'a -made o' graan. chaaae,. noc that
Jletooselah (blUsings on his name of
fcripter mimory!) was twice aa 1)ig aa a
maating-housQ.*'

*.* H\ ha! ver fine-r-v^er fine,'' chimed in
^h,e Frenchman, rubbing his bands and giv-
ing a peculiar shrug. " L am ver, moche
delight. I sail peiieve him till I,.po von—
yot you callhim-r^ay-beard, eh!"

<PhQ othpr mouqtaipeers laugh^d» wink-
ed at one another, but made no reply, and
JBlack George resumed* with all the gravi-
ty of a parson;

" Weil, sence you bllieve it, I don't see
1^0 use as. I'll hev to proi^e, it — and that's
suthin gaipedy" he added, sotta voce, —
^ Well, when I seed the ft^ld was clear, I
jest mo9ied back to. B^n to see how he'd
^ome out, far then J didn't know. I, shuf-
fled up to him, And thar I seed the var-
mints lyin by his side, clean meat and no-
thin else, and Ben Bose as dead^nor. a biled
kitten. I felt kind o' orful for a while, and
had to play the squaw a leetlc, jest for
old acquaintance's sake. When |'d rub-
bed the water out o' my spy -glasses,. I sot
to work, dug a hole, and kivered ,Qen over
decent, at least a foot below wolf-smell.
Then I went a hair raisin, and lifted all
the skunks' top-knots, took all . thar mus-
kets and powder, and sot down to my lone
camp-fire, feelin as used up and womanish
as ef I'd shuk with the ager a month. The
only feel-good I had that night, was hearin
the infernal wolves tearin the meat off o'
them t dirty niggers' bones. The next
mornin I sot on agin„ and took on Ben's
muleys, and it was a purty considerable
ti|ue afore I made another trail in this here
valley. Thar, you've got the meat o' the
story, and I'm done. Augh!"
"" Though more familiar with mountain life
and all its rough scenes, than when I first
hpard the old trapper relate his adventures,
yet the tale he had just told in his rude,
off-hand way, p roduced many painful feel-
ings. The story in Ihe main I believed to
be true — at least that part which related
to the death of the trapper — and I could
not avoid some very unpleasant reflections.
Who was Ben Bose, and how came he here?
Had he any near and dear relatives? Ay,
perchance he had a sister-— a mother — who

koows but a. wife and children ?-«*all «f
whom loved him with a pure affection. He
had been driven, it might be, by the atein
arm of necessity, to gain a living for him-
self and them among the wild faatnesaes
of the mountains. He had toiled and
atroggled, braved dangers, and hardships,
with the bright hope of one day retarninir
to them to part no more in life. And they,
all ignorant of his untimely flBte» bad pos-
sibly been — nay, might he now — anxious-
ly looking /or his retura. Alaal if so, they
must forever look in vain. No news of
him, peradventure, would ever reach their
ears — and certainly no Ben Bose would
ever again appear, bhould they venture,
however, to make inquiry among the trap-
pers who had known him, what painful tid-
ings would the- common brief rejoinders,
<< he's gone under," or *< been rubbed out,"
conv^ to< them, and ^how lacerate their
sinking hearts! Poor fellow! Here he
slept hia last sleep, unheeding and unheed-
ed, his memory forgotten, or recalled only
on an occasion like this as a fire-side past-
\irae.

<<A]as! sighed I, <* what an unenviable
fate! and how many hundred poor human
beings like him are doomed to share it!"
I was recalled from my rumination, by
hearing clamors lor a story from Teddy,
who, now that Black George had told his,
aeemed little inclined to favor us.

" Remember your promise," said I, join-
ing in with the others.

" Faith!" answered Teddy, resorting to
his peculiar habit, when puzzled or per-
plexed, of scratching his head: "Faith,
now, gintlemen, if ye'U allow a poor body
like mesilf to obsarve, it's me mother's
own son as is thinking it's a mighthy tight
fix I'm in. Troth! ye axes me for a story,
and it's hardly one mesilf knows to tell
yees. Och! I has it!" he exclaimed, his
eyes brightening with a sudden thought;
" I has it, now, claan at me fingers ends,
barring the nails which isn't counted at
sich times, and won't make any difference
for being longer some. I has it! I'll tell
yees how I com'd to lave ould Ireland — the
swaat land o' murphies and murthering
fine ladies — ^bless their, angel sowls, iveiy
.baastly one on !em! .barring the baaat]y

OR, ADVENTURlSS IN tM PAR WEST.

4d

part, now, whichi oonly mintioned by way
of smoothing the sintence.*'

•* Yes, yes, gfve us the yarn," cried a
voice; " and don't spin it too long, for it^s
gittin late."

« Ay, Teddy," I added, « 1[ think that
will do-»-only make it short."

« By gar!" rejoined Pierre, having re-
course to his box, '* I tink so, Monsieur
Cut him off so, von, two, tree feets, and
den him be von ver exsallent good, eh! —
Je le crois."

" Will, ye sae, thin, gintlemen," resum-
ed Teddy, " to begin at the beginning, as
Father Murphy used te say whin he wii^t
to carve a chicken tail foremost, I was
born in ould Ireland, not a tousand miles
from Cor-r-k, ayther ways. Me father —
pace to his ashes! — barring I niversaan the
proof he was me father, and there was dis-
pute about it — was a gintleman laborer, as
had plenty to do all his life and little to ate.
He lov^d whisky, the ould chap—spaking
riverintly-^and one day he took it into his
head to die, by token as he said there
wasn't air enough for Ivery body to brathe,
and he'd jist sacrifice himself a marthyr
for the good of others. Will, me mother
— ^Heaven rist her sowM— she become a
widder in coorse, and took on mighty bad
about her Saint Dennis, as she called me
dead father — though it's little of a saint as
she thought him whin living — and so to
drown her sorrow, she took to the bothel
too, and soon afther died spaachless, call-
ing for wather, wather, the ounly time I
iver heerd her mintion it, and by token of
that I knowed she was uncanny.

" Will, gintlemen, ye sae, by raason of
both me parents dying, I was lift a hilp-
less infant orphan of fourteen, widout fa-
ther or mother, or a shilling in me pocket,
or a divil of a pocket in me coat, barring
that it wasn't a coat at all, at all, ounly
rags sowed the gither, jist. Me father's
and mother's estate comprehinded ounly a
bed, some pots and kithles, two broken
stools, and a table as had it's ligs cut off
for kindling-wood. So, ye sae, that was
soon sittled, and thin I was lift a poor,
houseless wanderer, widout a place to go
to, or a relation in the wide wor-r-id, bar-
ring three brothers as was away, an un-

cle, two aunts, Imd abotkt a dozen cousins;
all poorer nor mesilf. Will, I took to cry-
ing for a Tiviftg, and a mighty nice time I
had on't, till one day Father Murphy come'd
along — bKssing on his name, the ould
spalpeen!— ^and axed lAe wcmld I like to
come and It^e wid hilnV

"Faith! tna/be it wasA't long s&ying
yis I was,' and so the ould praast took me
home wid him, and said if I'd work right
har-r-d, aftdl^e a good boy, I S'houid live as
will as his pigs — which was mighty wilh
he said, for they got fat on't; and so did f j
barring that all the ^h as ctept on me
bones over the night, was worked off o' nfe
through the day. itowiVer, it's bfethey- ridt
starving to death, I sez to mesilf^ barring
it's not much choice I sees in it, ahd one's
jist as asy as the tother, and a good bit
asier.

"Now's you're afther having a short
story, I'll skip over four years, and till ye
what turned up thin, by way of variety i

"The praast, Father Murphy, ye sae,
had a beauthiful niece, as was jist my age,
barring that she was a couple o' years
younger. Ndw ye must know I iver had
a fondness for the female sex, and I kind
o' took 'to liking Kathleen by raason of
natheral instinct. And Kathleen, the
darling! she sort o' took to liking me be^
times, more by token I was a dacent body^
and she hadn't inny otie bether to like; and
so betwaan us, we both thought of each
other waking, and dramed about 'em in
Our slaap. Now divil a word did the praast
know of it, at all, at all, and that was ail
the bether for the pair of tts.

" At last I got to making love to her, and
tilling her she was too swaat a being to
be living all alone by hersilf jist^ and that
if her poor parints should be taken away-
like mine was, and ahe become a poor or-
phan like mesilf, what would she beal^her
doing for a protector, and cJl thim things.
She cried, she did, and she sez:
.- << < Teddy,' sez she, < what would become
o' meV

" * It's not knowing,' I sez, * and it's a
mighty har-r-d thing to go by guess work
on sich occasions.'

" At that she cried the more, by tokeir
her inner faalings was touched, and axed

46

LENI-LEOTI:

me would I conthrive a way to git her out
o' her throublee.

" < Ah, faith/ sez I, all of a sudden, * I
have it now!'

<< < What is it, Teddy, dearV sez she.

" * Och! come to your Teddy's arms, and
he'll be father, and mother, and victuals
and dhrink to yees^ my own swaat Kath-
leen!' I sez."

" Aha!" interrupted the excited French-
man, " dat vas von ver nice bon exsallent
<;oup de grace, eh! Certainment, je le

>}

crois.

" Ah, the darling!" pursued Teddy —
" blissings on her sowl, be it where it will,
and pace to her ashes, if she's dead, which
I'm not knowing, and hoping conthrawise
— she fill right into me arms, and cora-
minced crying jist like wather dripping
through a seive. And thin, ye sae, I cried
too, more. by token o' saaing her cry, nor
that I felt bad like at all, jist. Will, I
wiped me eyes wid me sfeeve, and had jist
begun to say comfortable things to her,
whin who should happen along but the
ould chap of a praast, her uncle!

**'Och, ye spalpeen! and what is it
ye're at there, ye villain!' sez he.

^' At this Kathleen give a awful scraam,
and rin for the house, laving me alone to
fight the ould tiger-cat as best I could. I
filt mighty small jist thin, ye'd bother be-
lave, and wished wid all me heart an arth-
quake would open and swaller the pair of
us. I saan the praast was in a dangerous
timper, and I knowed something was com-
ing, asy as squaaling to a pig. But I'll
not provoke his riverince, I sez to mesilf,
or he'll jist murther me outright, widout
judge or jury.

•< < Who are yeV sez he, coming up and
taking me by the collar of me coat, bar-
ring that me coat had no collar, and I
stood in me shirt sleeves, jist. ' Who are
ye]' sez he; and thin he shook me till me
teeth rattled.

"* Pm Teddy O'Lagherty, your riverincOf
sez I.

" * Ye're a baastly dog!' sez he.

" ^ Troth! and so was me father before
me,' sez I, < and' hisn before that,' — for I
wanted to plaze him.

" * Ye're a blaggard!' sez he.

" * That comes by nather,' sea I.

« < Ye're a scoundrel — a villain — a maan,
contimptible spalpeen!' sez he.

*^ * Sure, and that comes by asBociationa,"
sez I.

" At this Father Murphy got as rid in
the face as a baat, and 'pon me sowl I
thought he would swaUer me widout cook-
ing or buther.

** * What was yees doing here wid Kath-
leen]' sez he.

"* Lotlng her, your riverince,* sez I.

'< ' And how dare you love sich as sheV
sez he.

"' Troth! and I'm thinking her as good
as mesilf, your riverince,' I sez.

" At that I thought the ould praast would
choke himsilf, he held his grip so tight up-
on his own throat. Jabers! but it was re-
joicing, I was, that it wasn't mesilf a he
fingered that ways.

" * Teddy,' sez he, aflher a bit, and spak-
ing more calm like, though I knowed the
divil was behind it all: < Teddy, I'm going
to have yees whipped to death, and thin
sint away for a baastly vagabone, to arn
yees own living in the cowld world,' sez he.

" ' Jist as plases your riverince,' sez I.
'But sure, ye'U be afther knowing I've
done many worse thing than love the
swaat Kathleen, blissings on her sowl!'

" * And do ye raaly love herl' sez he, in
a softher voice.

" * Och, your riverince, and 'is it mesilf
as loves good aetables, now?'

" ' Will, thin,' sez he, * for the sake of
me niece, as is the apple o' me eye, I'll
pardon yees, on one condition.'

" < And, sure, what might that be, your
riverinceV sez I.

" * That ye'U lave the counthry, and niv-
er come into it agin,' sez he.

** * What,' sez I, faaling me anger rising,
* and lave darling Kathleen all alone by
bersilf, widout a protector! Be jabers!
Father Murphy, it's me own mother's son
as 'ud Sae me own bead cut off first, and
thin I wouldn't.'

'^ * What,' sez he, gitting his dander riz
agin, ' and does ye dare to talk that ways
to me, a praast of the gospel, and I as has
raised ye from poverty to be me own sar-
ving man, and ^n ye the bist of ivery

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

47

thing as was lift whin weM all aeten, and
the pigs had donel Say thaft to me face,
as has been a father to yees, ye ungrateful
varletl I'll have ye horse-whipped out of
town, so I will!*

** * And if ye does,' sez I, * I'll staal
around and rin off wid Kathleen, as sure's
me name's Teddy O'Lagherty, and Dennis
O'Lagherty was me father' — which wasn't
so sure, d'ye- mind! but the praast didn't
know that.

the praast said about my niver gitting
Kathleen was thrue. So I thinks it oyer
a wee bit, and sez:

" * Why. Father Murphy,' sez I, * saaing
it's you, and you're a praast too, and a gin-
tleman I respict, (I had to lie a little,
d'yfe mind!) I'll go if ye'U give me dacent
clothes, pay me passage out, and five
pounds to dhrink your riverince's health.'

*< He wanted to baat me down, but I
saan I had him, and I swore divil a step

" This '{)ut Father Murphy td^inkipg | would I stir widout he'd do me axing. At

agin, and afther a bit he sez, quite amiable
like:

" * And sure, ye wouldn't be afther doing
that, now, to one as has trated ye iver
wid sich respict, Misther O'Laghertyl'
sez he.

" Howly murther! thinks I, what's com-
ing now! Ayther a mighty stor-r-m, or
sunshine sure — for I'd niver hearn the
praast spaak that ways afore.

" * Misther O'Lagherty,' sez the praast
agin, * I love ye.'

"'Faith! sez I, * and it's glad I am to
hear the likes, more by raason ye niver
showed the faaling at all, at all.'

« * Will, ye think of gitting Kathleen—
but it's all in your eye,' sez he. * She
don't care for ye, me son!'

" * That's a lie,' sez I, ' begging your
riverince's pardon for spaaking plain Ing-
lish!'

" Father Murphy bit his lips, and his
two eyes looked jist like fire-balls, they
did.

"*Wiil,' sez he, sez Father Murphy,
* we'll jist let that pass; but she can niver
be yourn, Teddy, by raason of her being
barT^iinedto another.'

•* * That alters the case,' sez I.

" * It does,' sez he. * Now ye sae, me
son, ye can't make nothing by staying
round here — not a bit of it — and as I maan
to do the gintaal by yees, I'd like to be
knowing what ye'd ax to lave the coun-
thry, and have the mojiey down?'

" ' And, sure, where'd I goV sez I.

" *To Amirica,' sez he.

" Will, I'd al'ays heerd of Amirica —
and what a blissed counthry it was for lib-
erty, ladies and poor folks — and the notion
plazed me; and besides, I knowed what

last sez he:

"'Teddy, I'll do it, if ye'll agree to
start right off, and niver sae Kathleen
agin — otherwise I won't.'

" ' It's har-r-rd, so it is,' sez I; but I was
afeard he'd back out if I didn't accept
soon, and so I towld him, *It's a bargin,
your riverince.'

" * Stay a minnet, thin,' sez he; and he
rin into the house an*d brought me out
five sovereigns. * These'll pay ivery
thing,' sez he; * and so lave, now, and niv-
er show your dirthy face here agin, or I'll
have you up for staaling.'

" * Troth!' sez I, faaling like a lord, wid
me hands on the goold, ' it's not throubled
wid me ye'll be agin soon. The top o' the
morning to your riverince!' and so I left
him.

" Will, to wind up, I come'd to Amiri-
ca, and spint all me fortune, and thin wint
to work and earned more money, and thin
wint travelling to sae what I could find,
whin, blissings on me luck! (turning to
me") I fill into your honor's sarvice, for
which good bit of accident howly Mary be
thanked! That's me story."

At the moment Teddy concluded, and
ere a single comment or rematK had esca-
ped our lips, a frightful volley of musket
balls fiew round us like bail, and one of our
party, springing up with a yell, fell back
a corpse. ■

48

LENI-LEOTI:

CHAPTER IX.

ItUN FOR COVEB — JL KEMJLBKABLE VOLLEY —
ASSAIL THE FOE — WONDERFUL SUCCESS
— BLOODY TBOPHIES — ^FRlGHT OF OUR
AlflMALS — ^A DILEMMA — UBEXPECTED RE-
INFORCEMENT — ^ALARM, ROUT, AND AL-!
MOST TOTAL ANNIHILATION OF THE IN-
DIANS — THE WONDERFUL HORSEMAN — AN
OLD ACQUAINTANCE — SPOILS OF THE VIC-
TORS — ANIMALS RECOVERED— ROUND THE
CAMP FIRE7-MORE TIDINGS OF PRAIRIE
FLOWER, ETC., ETC.

*' Indians/' was the simultaneous cry
which burst from our lips, as each man
grasped his rifle and sprang to his feet^

" Tree, boys/' cried Black George^ just
as a series of terrific yells resounded on
all sides, and a host of dusky figures were
seen bearing down upon us from every
direction but one. X\^hich seemed providen-
tially left open for our safety. Toward
this, the only point of compass possible for
us to escape without a personal conflict,
we fled precipitately, and soon reacheci a
small clump of trees, which afi'ored us im-
mediate protection, leaving our dead com-
rade in possession of the savages. With
a shout of triumph, a dozen of the latter
rushed up to the unfortunate trapper, and
one of the number instantly tore ofif his
scalp, while several others b«ned their
knives in his body to make sure of their
victim.

Meantime the rest of the party, which
consisted of some thirty in all, made for
our retreat, uttering demoniac yells of
barbarous exultation, doubtless fancying
us an easy prey.

" Now, boys," cried Black George, in a
stentorian voice, " every man pick a nig-
ger, and give the- — ^ skunks h !"

His advice did not need a repetition; for
scarcely were the words out of his mouth,
when crack wept our six rifles, and, almost
miraculous to record, six of the foremost
assailants rolled howling in the dust —
each man, by 1 friendly providence, havr
ing selected a separate target with a fatal
aim. This was a result as unlocked for
by us, as alarming to our foes, who sud-
denly halted and rent the air with howls

of rage and dismay. While it staggered
them, it gave us courage, and in the mo-
ment of their indecision and our triumph,
the voice of Black George was heard
shouting the inspiring words:

" Well done, boys! Foller me, and let
us bark our pups and bulcher at close
quarters!"

Saying this, he sprang forward with a
yell, a proceeding we all imitated, and be-
fore the ast(9nished savages were fully
aware wllat was taking place, they found
us in their midst, shouting, shooting, and
cutting, with a daring, activity and feroci-
ty they had probably never seen equalled.
So suddenly bad we become assailants in
turn, and so vigorously did we press upon
them, that they instantly wavered, be-
came confused, and after a slight resis-
tance, took to flight, leaving four more of
their number companions to the first un-
fortunate six. Being all more or less ex-
perienced in Indian warfare, we were con*'
sequently wise enough not to follow them,
well knowing they would return to the
charge as soon as pressed into cover. Both
of Black George's companions had been
wounded in the melee, but not dangerous-
ly, and we now congratulated ourselves,
with a triumphant shout, on our success.

" Reckon they'll stay put till we ken
butcher and raise these here dog's hair,"
said the old trapper; and forthwith all set
to work, save myself, in killing the woun-
ded and scalping the slain. When this
bloody business was over. Black George
observed:

"This heyar coon wonders how the nig-
gers feels now! Maybe they've got a no-
tion in thar heads that we're some in a
bar-fight. Sarved 'em right, the — pos-
sums! What business'd they to be pitch-
ing into us, when we was tellin stories and
troublin nobody. Augh!"

" By gar! I tink so," added the French-
man, as he gave his olfactoiy organ an
extra dose, and his shoulders an unusually
vigorous shug. " Ha, ha, Monsieur Blake
Shorge — you say ver moche true, sarve
him right. Certain ment, be got von
most tam ver good exsallent — vot you call
him — drubbing, eh ! Ha, ha ! certain-
ment."

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

49

" Och, now, but didn't the blaggards
look a wee bit astonished, the spalpeens!''
joined in Teddy. *< Faith! but I thought
whin they rin, maybe as it was a race they
was rinning for whisky or the likes."

" Well," said I, " we have been fortun-
ate so far, that is certain; and now let us
take care for the future. Load quick, my
friends, and let us bring our animals to-
gether, or the Indians may rally and dash
upon them, and leave us in a bad condi-
tion."

" Right, boy," cried Black George, with
a start: " I'd forgot What a old fool I is
sometimes. Quick' or the skunks will
head us — for I knows 'em of old."

Fortunately for us, the Indians had not
as yet made a seizure of our horses,
(which, at the time of the attack, were
quietly feeding in the valley, but now
running to and fro and snuffing the air,)
thinking, I suppose, that victory for them
was certain, and well knowing that an at-
tempt to take the animals first, would cre-
ate an alarm, and perhaps defeat their de-
sign of making us their victims. Our pos-
sibles, too, had escaped them, probably
from being concealed under the brushwood
collected for our fire, and also from their
being put to flight so suddenly. All these
were certainly matters for congratulation;
and hurriedly removing our property from
out the fire-light, I ordered Teddy and
Pierre to guard it with their lives, while
the rest of us, haviug reloaded our rifles,
set off to collect our animals.

We had not been any too soon in this
matter; for the Indians, having recover-
ed from their first alarm and confusion,
we now espied dodging from tree to tree,
with the eyident intention of getting be-
tween us and the beasts, and so capturing
the latter.

" Heyar's a fix," observed Black George,
making a halt. '* Ef we go for'ard, the
cussed varmints will pick us off and make
meat on us; and ef we stay her e-a- ways,
they'll catch our critters and leave us to
foot it. I'll be dog-gone ef it don't look
like a dilemmer, as I beam a scholard say
onc't — ^that's a fact." ,

It was a dilemma, sure enough, and how
to act was a matter of great moment.—

We could not charge upon the savages as
we had done before, for they had " treed"
in every direction, and, as Black George
observed, would be sure to piok us 03"
singly. To lose our cavallada was not ta
be thought of, for this would in a measure
place us in their power. What was to be"
done! Several propositions were made;
by one and another, but ail as soon rejjsct^
ed as being impracticable*

Meantime the Indians were not inac-^
tive, and though the night was without
moon, we could occasionally perceive a
figure flitting before us like a shadow, and^
the circle they had made around our horsea
gradually narrowing. It was a Xime
for action of some kind, and yet we
stood irresolute. At length the old trap"
per suggested that we should separate,
and each shift for himself in the manner
best calculated to annoy our foesr This
was the best plan as yet proposed, and
was instantlv adopted. We had already
begun to put it in execution, when, to our
astonishment, a small body of horsemen,
with loud yells, suddenly dashed out from
a distant thicket, and separating, bore
down upon the rear of our enemies^ The
next moment we heard the sharp crack of
fire-arms, mingled with the shouts of the
assailants, and yells of terror from the sur-
prised Indians, who instantly took to flight
in all directions. In their confusion, a por-
tion ran towards us, and were received by
a well directed volley, which wounded one,
killed two, and increased the alarm of the
survivors, who instantly changed their
cjurse and fled toward the western hills,
only to find iheir flight intercepted by an
occasional horseman.

" Don't know who fights for us," cried
Black George, "and don't care a kick — but
know they's some — and so let's arter and

disconflumicate the skunka all we

ken."

Saying this, the trapper set forward in
eager chase of the flying foe, an example
we all followed, and for the next quarter
of an hour the valley presented an indis-
cribable scene ^of confusion and excite-
ment. Nothing of life could be seen but
flying fugitives, hotly pursued by a bitter
enemy, whose only mercy was instant

60

LENI-LEOTI:

death; and nothing heard but shrieks,
yells, groans and shouts of triumph — these
from victors, those from vanquished — to-
gether with the constant sharp crack of
fire-arms, and the clashing of knives, as
here and there two met in personal and
deadly conflict. To use a military phrase,
the rout was total, the enemy badly beat-
en, and the victorious skirmishers only
withdrew from the field of conflict for

7 ant of a foe.
During the meZee, we had all become
mixed up, and but for the distinguishing
difl^erence of color and equipments, we
might, owing to the darkness, have made
sad havoc with our best friends. But the
new comers were whites, and there was
no difficulty in distinguishing between
them and the savages. But who were
they, and how came they here so oppor-
tunely for us, were enigmas I had no
time nor opportunity to solve till the af-
fray was over. Whoever they were, they
were brave to a fault — if I may call that
courage a fault which is reckless of self-
preservation — and they fought like demons.
One of their party, whom I took to be lead-
er, displayed an agility, intrepidity and
fierceness I had never seen equaled but
once. Mounted on a fiery steed, which
seemed to comprehend his slightest wish,
he rushed among the frightened savages,
and tv/ice, as he passed near me, did I ob-
serve him bend from his saddle, seize the
scalp-lock of an Indian, stab him in the
neck, and then , with a motion quick as
thought, cut around and tear off the bloody
scalp, without scarcely checking the speed
of his horse.

Already I fancy I see the reader smile,
and say such feats are impossible. I do
not blame him; for had I not seen them
myself, I should require more than one
person's evidence to convince me of their
possibility, to say nothing more.

A long, loud shout at last attested our
complete victory, when I, in company with
my companions, approached our deliver-
ers, to return our sincere thanks for their
timely aid. Moving up to the personage
I supposed to be leader, who now sat
quietly on his horse, surrounded by a doz-
en stalwart figures, all mounted, I said: —

*< Whom have I the honor to thank for
this invaluable assistance, at a point of
time so critical to us V

" Why, as to thanks," answered the one
addressed, in a voice that seemed familiar
to me, " I don't *spect thar's any needed;
but ef you thank any body, thank all — for
every man's done his duty, and nothing
more."

" Methinks, sir, I know your voice," I
rejoined, "but I caiinot see your fea-
tures."

** Well, it struck me as I*d heard your's
afore," returned the intrepid horseman;
and he bent forward in his saddle, for a
closer scrutiny of my person.

At this moment Black George came up,
and casting one glance at the speaker,
exclaimed:

" Kit Carson, or I'm a nigger! Reckon
you knows old Black George, don't yel"
and in an instant the two were shaking
hands with the hearty familiarity of old
friends.

"Kit Carson!" cried I, in surprise.
** Well, sir," I might have known it was
you, from your manner of fighting;" and
in turn I seized his hand with one of my
strongest grips.

"You have a leetle the advantage of
me," said Kit, when I had done.

" I presume you have not forgotten
Frank Leighton, and the fight at Bitter
Cottonwood?" I replied.

" Good heavens! is it indeed youl Why,
I thought you war rubbed out thar, and
I've never heard any thing of you sence.
I'm glad to see you, sir;" and an extra grip
and shake of the hand, convinced me he
meantwhathesaid. "I'll have a talk with
you, by-and-by; but just now we mountain
men hev got a right smart chance at
scalping — arter which I'm at your ser-

vice."

Wiiile most were occupied in the bar-
barous practice (I can never call it by a
milder term,) of scalping the slain, I call-
ed Teddy, Pierre, and- one or two others
to my aid, and proceeded to collect and
picket the frightened animals. This was
no easy task, and it was at least an hour
before order and quiet were again restor-
ed. In the meantime the Indians were

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

51

scalped, and rifled of every thing valuable,
and then left to feed the wolves, some of
which had already began their feastj and
were fast being joined by others. Of the
slain, we counted in all twenty-three car-
caases; so that it was evident but few, per-
haps only ^7^ or six, escaped — and these,
doubtless, more or less wounded. Of my
parly, not one was injured in this last af-
fray; but several of the horsemen had re-
ceived cuts and stabs, though none of a
dangerous character. When we had all
collected around the camp-fire, the wound-
„ed were looked to, and their wounds dress-
ed as well as circumstances would aHow.
This done, we proceeded to bury the
mountaineer, who had been killed, as the
reader will remember, at the onset. As
soon as all these matters were arranged,
we squatted down in a circle round the
fire, to talk over the events of the last two
hours.

I now had an opportunity of conversing*
with Carson, which I eagerly end)raced.
I informed him, in brief, of all that had oc-
curred since we last met, and listened to a
hasty recital of his own adventures, the
principal part of which referred to Fre-
mont's first expedition, and is 'already be-
fore the public. He said, that after part-
ing with Fremont, he had been engaged
to conduct a party to California, and was
on his returi to St. Louis, by way of Uin-
tah Fort, St.- Vrains, and Fort Laramie,
when, stopping at the first mentioned, he
found the present party of adventurers anx-
ious to obtain a guide to Taos, and thence
to Santa Fe, and that they had induced
him to accompany them as far as Taos.
He said that they had been on our trail
for some time, but had not come in sight
of us, until the present evening, when,
camping just the oth^r side of one of the
surrounding hills, he, in a short ramble,
had accidentally discovered our camp-fire,
and had determined on joining ns in the
morning. The attack on us by the In-
dians had been heard, and as soon as pos-
sible, thereafter, the whole party had come
to our aid, with what result the reader
knows.

He further added, it was rumored that Fre-
mont had begun his second expedition, and

was even now on his route westward by way
of Bent's Fort — thdit he was anxious to
join him — and that if an arrangement could
be efiTected to do without him, he would in
the morning cross over to the valley of
the Arkansas, and take a direct course for
Bent's.

In answer to my inquiries concerning
Prairie Flower and her tribe, he said he
had not met with any of them since the
battle of Bitter Cottonwood; but that he
bad heard of their being in this part of the
country quite recently, and was inclined to
believe them somewhere in the neighbor-
hood of Taos at the present time. With
regard to my friend, he expressed much
sorrow for his loss, but could give me no
information concerning him.

I was now more than ever anxious to
find the Mysterious Tribe; for something
whispered me that Prairie Flower had
been in search of my friend— K)r at least
was now with her tribe on that errand —
or, if neither of these surmises should
prove correct, I could perhaps prevail upon
them to assist me. At all events, I deter-
mined on finding them as soon as possible,
and accordingly resolved to start at day-
light, and push through to Taos with all
haste.

Busy thought prevented me from sleep-
ing that eventful night, and at the first
tinge of morning light I awoke my com-
panions for the journey. As we. all had
one destination, the party of Carson con-
sented to part with him and join mine;
and shaking my hand, with a hearty prayer
for my success, he set oif alone over the
mountains, while we Continued down the
valley of the Rio Orande.

CHAPTER X.

ARRIVE AT TAOS — DISAPPOINTMETIT — A SIN-
GULAR CHARACTER — JOYFUL TIDINGS —
SOUTHWARD BOUND — SANTA FE — ADDI-
TIONAL NEWS — ON THE RIGHT COURSE —
PERPLEXITY — ALL RIGHT — TRIUMPHANT
SUCCESS — RETURN TO THE NORTH.

As our party was now quite formidable,
V(re had no fears of again being attacked.

58

LENI-LEOTI:

80 long as we remained together. On the
fourth day from qaitting the valley de-
scribed in the previous chapter,. we enter-
ed the small village of Taos. Here I
found a melange of all nations and colors,
consisting of trappers, hunters, traders,
adventurers, &c.

Mingling with all classes, I at once pro-
ceeded to make inquiries regarding the
present whereabouts of the Great Medi-
cine Tribe, and also if any had seen or
heard of a certain young man (giving a
full description of Huntly) being taken
prisoner by the Indiana or Mexicans. To
ray first inquiry, I received from several
the answer, that a singular tribe of In-
dians, among whom was a beautiful fe-
male, had been seen in the vicinity within
a few weeks; but where they now were,
or in what direction, none could tell. As
to the latter, each replied with a shake of
the head, that he could tell me nothing.
It was not an uncommon thing, they in-
formed me, for a white man — an adven-
turer — to be taken, robbed, held for ran-
som, knocked on the head, or sold into
slavery; but no one remembered hearing
of, or seeing such as I had described.

To me this news produced great disap-
pointment; for, from some cause which I
can not explain, I had been sanguine of
getting information of Huntly so soon as
I should arrive at Taos. Here, then, was
a complete overthrow of my most ardent
hopes I and I now felt keenly the sandiness
of the foundation on which I had reared my
expectations. I might pass a long life in
a wearisome and dangerous search, and
be no wiser of Huntly's fate at last-
There was still a faint hope that Prairie
Flower, who I doubted not had gone south
with her tribe for this purpose, had gained
some information of him; and at once I
determined to hunt her out, with the addi-
tional resolve, that should my surmises
prove correct, and she had failed also, to
set out on my return forthwith. But where
should I begin to look for her, was the next
question. She might be as difficult to
find as Huntly, and there was no certainty
of my ever seeing either again.

The day following my arrival in Taos, I
was passing along one of the streets, pon-

dering upon these mattersj when I chanced^
to meet an old mountaineer; whom I did
not remember having seen before. De-
termined to leave no stone unturned, I ac"
costed him with the same inquiry I had
made of the others. He stopped, looked
at me attentively a moment, as if to com-
prehend my questions, and then in a mu*
sing, half solilloquising manner, replied;

'<'Bout the Injins, don't know-^think
I've seed such — ^won't be sartin-^-don't
like to be sartin when t aint. Yes! think
I hev seed 'em—yes, know I hev — but it
war two year ago, and way up north a ■
of a ways: Fact. 'Bout the other chap^
don't knowj-*-yes — ^no-^stop — ^let me see-
— ^y*e-s, I reckon — aint sartin-^what wa»
he likel"

Here I proceeded to give a description
of my friend, with what conflicting feel-
ings of hope and fear I leave the reader to
imagine. In fact, my voice became so
tremulous, that several times I was forced
to stop and put my hand to my throat, ta
prevent, as it were, my heart from strang-
ling me.

<< Git cool, and jest say that thar over
agin," rejoined the other, when at length
I tremblingly paused for his answer.

I repeated it twice, before he seemed
satisfied.

" Now," says he, " I'll think — let me
see!" and he deliberately proceeded to take
up each point of my description, and ap-
ply it to some person he had seen, making
bis own comments as he went along. —
"Slim and graceful — let me see! — ^yes —
no — ye-a-s — ^rayther reckon he was — know
it — fact. 'Bout twenty-three — stop — let
me think! — ^yes — ^reckon he might be —
know he was — sartin. Good face— -han'-
some featurs — ^stop — a — ^y-e-s— know it —
settled."

Thus he went on until I found my pa-
tience completely exhausted, and was
about to interrupt him, when he suddenly
exclaimed:

"Seen him, stranger— sartin as life-
know I hev."

" Wherel where)" cried I breathlessly j^
grasping his hand.

" San Domingo."

« Wheal"

Oft, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

63

•« *Bout a year ago.^'
•« God be thanked! You are surel"
•" Sartin, or Vd never said It."
>" Well, well — what became of himl"
" It'B more'n I ken say — 'spect he war
•made a slave. A — old Greaser had
him, and wanted to sell or git him ransom-
ed. He axed too high, and nobody traded.
I pitied the poor feller, but I hadn't no
money, and thar warn't no Yankees thar
then to help me out in ti^in him. Old
Greaser went sothe; and some I axed
^shuk thar heads, and said that that old
Boamp war a robber chief, and had lots o'
help close by. Ail I know, stranger."
« But do you think he is alive now?**
*' Can't say, ye see, 'cause don^t know.
Never say what don't know. Any thing
more to ax, stranger?"

" Notbmg that you can answer," I re-
plied; and thanking him kindly for his in-
formation,! placed a gold coin in his hand,
and hurriedly left him to seek out my com-
panions — my spirits, so lately depressed,
now buoyant and bounding.

The party which had joined mine at the
valley, had not yet quitted TaoB; and call-
ing all together, I proceeded to lay before
them^my joyful intelligence. When I had
done, Black George gave a shout, Teddy a
whoop, Pierre shrugged his shoulders and
doubled his dose of snuff, and every one
expressed his delight in his own peculiar
way. The Rovers — so our new com-
panions termed themselves — were nearly
all young men &om the States, who had
come west more for adventure than specu-
lation; and as I had become a favorite
with them in the short time of our ac-
quaintance, they at once volunteered me
their assistance, an offer I accepted with
tears of gratitude.

Ordering out otir animals, we mounted
and set forward immediately, and, although
the day was partly advanced, succeeded in
reaching Santa Cruz about nightfall. By
noon of the next day we rode into Santa
Fe — a place of much importance and no-
toriety, from being centrally located on
the great caravan route from Missouri to
Southern California. At the time of which
I write, Santa Fe contained some four or
£ve thousand inhabitantfi and w^b the em-

porium of the northern trade between New
Mexico and Missouri. However, it was
any thing but an agreeable place — its in-
habitants being mostly made up of the off-
8couring« of the earth — without religion,
morality, or any other noble quality. To
gamble, steal, rob and murder, were among
the refined amusements of this most wor-
thy set. To make matters still worse,
there had recently been some difficulty be-
tween the Mexicans and the citizens of
the United States, and on both sides ex-
isted a bitter hostility, which was produc-
tive of the most violent crimes. It was
dangerous for any one to traverse the
streets alone, particularly after nighttall,;
for at every corner he turned, he knew
himself in danger of assasination. The
Indians here generally sided with the
Mexicans, and looked upon all Yankees as
their worst enemies.

Such was the state of affairs at Santa
Fe on my arrival; end the same inimical
feeling, to a greater or less extent, pre-
vailed in all the adjacent towns. As my-
self and party had no desire to quarrel
with any one, we took care to be civil, al-
ways together, well armed, and to mind
our own business on all occasions; and in
consequence we fortunately escaped with-
out molestation.

Making several inquiries in Santa Fe,
and gaining nothing further of Huntly or
the Mysterious Tribe, we pursued our
course southward through Cinega to Sao
Domingo^

Here the story of the old trapper was
so far confirmed, that several persons ve-
membered having seen the notorious rob-
ber, Gonzalez, in possession of a hand-
some younj^ prisoner, whom he was anx*
ious to dispose of, declaring he could not
find it In his heart to kill him, and could
not afford to part with him without recom-
pense; that no one there being disposed to
purchase him, he had gone further south;
hut what had since become of him, none
could afford me any information. In answer
to my inquiry concerning Prairie Flower,
I learned that some time ago she had been
seen in this. vicinity with her tribe — that
she had made inquiries similar to mine--*:,
and that all had departed southward.

54

LENI-LEOTI:

This news almost made me frantic with
joy. Huntly, I argued, was living. Prai-
rie Flower, like some kind angel, had gone
to his rescue; and it might be, that even
now he was free and enjoying her sweet
companionship. The joyful thought, as I
said but now, nearly drove me mad with
excitement; and all my olden hopes were
not only revived, but increased by faith to
certainties.

Hurrying forward to San Bemilla on
the Rio Grande» I heard nearly the same
tale as at San Domingo; and following
down the river to Toqreon, listened to its
repetition — and at Valencia, Nutrias and
Alamilla likewise. At Valverde, the next
village below the last mentioned, I could
gain ne intelligence whatever. This led
me to think Gonzalez had disposed of his
prisoner between the two villages— or,
what was just as probable, had taken an-
other course. For what I knew, he might
have crossed the Rio Grande and struck
off into the Sierra de los Mimbres — a
mountain chain only a few miles to the
west of us, whose lofty, snow-covered
peaks rose heavenward to a vast height,
and had been distinctly visible for several
days. If he had taken this direction, the
chances of tracing him successfully ap-
peared much against us. It was equally
as probable, too, he had gone eastward —
perhaps to Tabira — a small village some
seventy miles distant. But which course
should we take? Consulting my friends,
we at length resolved to retrace our steps
to Alamilla, make inquiries of all we might
meet on the way, and then, if we could
gain no satisfactory information, to strike
out for Tabira on a venture.

This matter settled, we at once turned
back, but had not proceeded far, when we
met a couple of Mexican hunters. As I
understood a smattering of Spanish, I at
once addressed them, and, in course of con-
versation, gained the joyful tidings, that
a prisoner, such as I described, had been
purchased by a Mexican, living not more
than three miles distant, and that in all
probability we should find him there now.
The path to his residence having been
pointed out, I rewarded each of my in-
^ormai^ts with a gold coin, and then driv-

j ing the spurs into our horses, in less than
half an hour we reined them in before a
small hacienda, much to tiie terror of the
inmates, who believed we had come to rob
and murder them. Assuring the proprie-
tor, a rather prepossessing Mexican, that
in case he gave us truthful answers no
harm should be done him — but that, being
partially informed already, the slightest
prevarication would cost him his tsngue
and ears, if not his liead— I proceeded to
question him.

Thus forewarned, and much in fear of
the execution of^ the threat, he gave
straight-forward replies, to the effect that
more than a year ago Gonzalez had paid
him a visit, and offered him an American
at a small price, declaring that if he did
not purchase, he would knock the prisoner
on the head without more ado, as he had
cost him more time than he was wortib;
that at first, he (the proprietor of the ha-
cienda) had refused to buy, having as many
slaves as he cared about; but that some-
thing in the young man's appearance, and
the appeal he made with his eye, had
touched his feelings, and the bargain had
at length been struck. He farther stated,
that the prisoner had not been treated like
the rest of his slaves, but with more re-
spect, and had behaved himself like a gen-
tleman and won his confidence. A short
time ago, he continued, a small tribe of
Indians had called upon him, and offered a
ransom for the prisoner, stating he was an
old acquaintance; that he had accepted
the offer, and the prisoner had departed
with them toward the north, in fine spirits.

This was the substance of the informa-
tion I gathered here; but it was enough to
intoxicate me with joy, and was received
by the rest of the party with three hearty
cheers, much to the astonishment of the
old Mexican, who did not comprehend
what was meant.

The prisoner was Huntly — there was
no doubt of that — and the Great Medicine
was the Indian tribe which had set him
free. The next thing was to go in quest
of them. They had gone toward the north,
and had had some time the start of us. It
might be difficult to find them — ^but nothing,
I fancied, in comparison with the task I

DR, ADTENTURES IN THE PAR WEST,

65

had first undertaken of tracing out my
friend. The Rovers agreed to accompany
me as far as Santa Cruz, when, after having
seen me so far safe, they designed return-
ing to Santa Fe.

It is unnecessary for me to detail each
day's journey. Suffice, that in due time
we arrived at Santa Cruz, where I parted
irom the Rovers, with many expressions
of gratitude on my part, and heart-felt
wishes for my success on theirs. My par-
ty was thus reduced to six; and as two of
this number preferred remaining here to
going north immediately, I settled with
them at once, still retaining Teddy, Pierre
and Black George.

With these I again set forward rapidly,
making inquiries of all I met. For two
or three days I could get no tidings of the
Mysterious Tribe, and I began to have
doubts of being on the right course. For-
tunately, before we had decided on chang-
ing our direction, we met a party of moun-
taineers, who informed us that a few weeks
before they had seen a small tribe of
friendly Indians, somewhere between the
Spanish Peaks and Pueblo, amoxig whom
were a white man and a beautiful female
half-breed — that they were moving very
leisurely toward the north — and that in all
probability they were now encamped some-
where in the beautiful valley of the Ar-
kansas.

Elated with the most extravagant an-
ticipations of soon realizing our sanguine
hopes, we again pressed forward for two
or three days, and leaving the lofty Span-
ish Peaks to our right, tracing up the
head-waters of the Rio Mora, we struck
off over the Green Mountains and camp-
ed at last in the far-famed valley of the
Arkansas, within full view of the eternal
snowcrowned Pike's Peak.

CHAPTER XI.

MOKE CHEERINO NEWS — A FRANTIC RIDS —
IN THE EMBRACE OF MT FRIEND— EFFECT
OF THE MEETING — SAD TIDINGS FOR HUNT-
LY — ^DEEF EMOTION — STORY OF HIS CAP-
TIVITY AND RELEASE — ^HIS SECOND MEET-
ING WITH FRAIRIE FLOWER— OLD FEEL-
INGS RENEWED— LOVE, ETC.

For two days after reaching the valley,
our search proved fruitless, and the reader
can better imagine my feelings than I de-
scribe them. My anxiety to see my long
lost friend was so great, that I could not
rest at night, and barely devour enough
food to support nature. A consultation
had resulted in shaping our course up the
river, and on the third day we had the un-
bounded delight to meet with a couple of
trappers, who informed us they had seen
the Great Medicine Tribe only two days
before, and that they were then camped on
a small creek, in a lovely valley, at the
base of the southwestern mountain chain
surrounding what is known as the South
Park, not more than sixty or seventy mii6s
distant Never can I forget the feelings I
experienced, nor the wild, prolonged, and
deafening cheers which resounded at this
announcement. Each of my companions'
seemed frantic with joy; and as for my-
self, I could have clasped the informants,
rough and half civilized as they were, to
my beating heart. ^

Becoming at last a little more tranquil,
we managed to impress upon ourselves a
brief description of the route to be taken,
and then set forward with the wildness of
mad-men just loosened from an insane
asylum. On, on we dashed, over plain
heath and ridges, through thickets and
streams, till the blowing and reeling of our
animals warned us we must be more
prudent, or their lives, at least, would be
the penalty of our rashness.
Throughout that day, nothing was thought
of, nothing talked of, but our fortunate ad-
venture, and the speedy prospect of gain-
ing what we sought. Time, distance,
every thing was overlooked; and when the
sun went down, it appeared to us the day
had been by half the shortest of the sea-

56

LENI-LEOTI:

son. But very different was it with our
horses, which were so exhausted from hard
riding, that serious, fears were entertained
lest we had ruined them. But a thorough
rubbing down, and an hour or two of rest
revived them; and we at last had the sat-
isfaction of seeing them crop the plentiful
blade with their wonted gusto.

I slept none that night; in fact, did not
even lie down.; hut mo^it of the time p^ced
the earth to and fro hefore the fire-light,
anxiou^y praying for the dawn to resume
our journey. My companions, however,
^lept soundly; for they had far less to think
of than I, and moreover were sorely fa-
tigued.

At the first blush of morning 1 roused
them, and again mounting we set forward.
As both Pierre and Black George knew
the country well, we lost no time by going
out of the way, but took the nearest and
safest course to the point described. A
ride of four hours brought us to the brow
of a hill, looking down upon a fertile val-
ley, where, joy inexpressiblel we beheld a
village of temporary lodges, and a few In-
dians, whom I instantly recognised as be-
longing to the anxiously sought tribe.

"Hurray! we've got 'em — W. be dog-
gone ef we haint!" cried Black George.

Hurray for us, heavers, sez I! and a quart
on the feller as is last in.^'

Uttering yell after yell, as wild as those
of savages, we spurred down the Mil with
reckless velocity, each one striving to lead
;the rest and be first to reach the goal of
our present desires. Had the tribe in
fjuestion not been peaceably inclined, this
proceeding would have been dangerous in
the extrenke, and a shower of rifie balls
might have changed our joyous shouts to
cries of pain and lamentation, or put us
beyond the pale of mortality. Our rapid
and tumultuous approach alarmed our
friends j and men, women and children
came running out of their huts, with fear
depicted on their faces. Among them
were two figures that fixed my attention;
and from that moment I saw nothing but
Charles Huntly and Leni-Leoti, tiH my
jallant beast stood panting in the center
,^,the crowd.

^Charles!" I exclaimed, as I leaped from

■it

my steed J my Irrain fairly reeling with in-
tense emotion; and staggering up to where
he stood, bewildered and confused, I threw
my armsjiround his neck and swooned in
his embrace.

When consciousness again returned, J
found myself lying on a mat in a small
cabin, hastily constructed of sticks and
skins, and my friend standing by me, chaf-
ing my temples, dashing cold water in my
face, and entreating me in the most pite-
ous tones to arotise and speak to him. —
There were others around, but I heeded
them not. I had neither ears, nor eyes,
for any hut my friend. My first glance
showed me he was altered, but not more
than f had expected to find him. His form
was somewhat wasted, and his pale fea.-
tures displayed here and there a line of
grief and suflfering which I had never be-
fore seen.

•* Prank," he cried, " for God's sake look
up and speak to me!"
" Charles!" I gasped.
" Ha! I hear it again — ^that dearly loved
voice!**" and burying his head upon my
breast he wept aloud.

In a few minutes f had completely re-
covered from my swoon; but it was a long
time before either of us could master his
emotion sufficient to hold conversation.'
We looked at each other, pressed each
other by the hand, mingled our tears to
gether, and fett fin this strange meeting,
what no pen can describe, no language
portray. We had literally been dead to-
each other-^we who had loved from child-
hood with that ardent love which cements
two souls In one — and now we had come
to life, as it were, to feel more intensely
our friendship for the long separation. This
excess of joy had nearly made us frantic,
and taken away ^he power of speech. At
last we became morb tranquil, when our
friends who had been present, but almost
unnoticed,withdrew and left us to ourselves.
. " And now, Frank," said Huntly, look- .
ing me earnestly in the face, his eyes still ,
dimmed with tears,. " tell me the news. .
Have you been homel"
" I have not."

** Ah! then I suppose you know notbing ^•
of our friends?"

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

67

" More than you imagine;" and I turned
away my head, and sighed at the thought
of the mournful intelllgjBifoe I 'was about
to communicate. . " #^

"Indeed!" said Huntly. "But why do
you avert your face? Has — has any thing
happened?"

" Prepare yourself for the worst, dear
Charles!" I said, in a tremulous tone.

"For the worst]" he repeated. "Great
Heaven! what has happened] Speak!
quick! tell me! for suspense at such times
is hard to be borne; and our imagination,
running wild with conjecture, tortures us,
it may be, beyond the reality."

"In this case I think not."

" Then speak what you know — in Heav-
en's name, speak!"

" Promise me to be calm I"

" I will do my best," repKed my friend,
eagerly, with a loot of alarm, while his
frame fairly trembled with excitement, and
his forehead became damp with cold per-
spiration. •

" Your father, dear Charles!" I began.

" Well, well, Prank— what of him?"

" Is — is — no more. The sod has twice
been green above him."

"Merciful God!" he exclaimed, throw-
ing his hands aloft, with a look of agony I
shall never forget; then covering his face
with them, he groaned as one in the throes
of death.

For some time I did not disturb him,
thinking it best to let his first grief take
its course in silence. At length I said:

" Come, my dear friend, rouse thee, and
be a man! Do not give too much sway to
your sorrow! Remember, that in this
world'We all have to die — that we are
doomed bv the immutable laws of nature
and the decrees of an over-ruling God, to
part from those we most dearly love! But
it is only for a time. God is wise, and
good, and does all things for the best; and
it is only a short time at the longest, ere
we in turn shall depart to join them in a
life beyond the reach of death. Cheer up,
dear Charles ! and look upon your father as
one who has done with the cares and per-
plexities of life, and made a happy change.
I know how dearly you loved him — I know
the trial to give him up is most painful —

and from my very soul I sympathise with
you in your affliction. But, my dear friend,
we have other duties than to wail the dead;
for the living demand our attention; and
you have friends still left you, equally near
and dear, who stand in need of your most
iron energies."

"Alas!" he groaned, his face still hid in
his hands — " dead! dead! dead!— ^and I — his
only son — far, far away !" He paused, and
trembled violently for a few mo-;
ments, and his breath came quick and hard.
" But you are right, dear Frank," he said,
at length, slowly raising his face, now sad-
ly altered. " You are right, my friend!
We know such things must, do, and will
take place; and we should, to what extent
we can, be philosophers all, and strive to
be resigned to God's will. It is terrible^
though — terrible— -to lose a beloved parent
and not be at hand to hear his parting
words, nor see him set forth on that jour-
ney from whence none ever return. But
I — I — will strive to bear it — to at least ap-
pear calm. And now, dear Frank — my —
my — I fear to mention who — lest I hear
more painful, heart-rending tidings."

" You piean your mother and sisterl"

" He grasped my arm nervously, partly
averted his head, as if in dread of my an-
swer, and answered almost in audibly:

" I do."

" Be not alarmed, dear Charles! I left
them well."

" Left them well?" he repeated, in sur-
prise. *' Did not you tell me you had not
been home!"

"True! neither have I."

"Then where did you see them, and
whore are they now!"

" I will answer your last question first.
They are now in Oregon City."

He gave me a deep, searching look, such
as one would bestow upon a person whose
sanity he had just begun to question.

" I do not wonder you look surprised," I
added : " but listen ere you doubt;" and I
proceeded to narrale, as briefly as I could,
how I had met them near the South Pass
of the Rocky Mountains, and under what
singular circumstances; how I had soon
learned of their misfortunes, both in the
loss of their dearest friend and their prop-

V

I

58

LENI-LEOTI:

erty , (wkich latter eeemed to afiect Charles
less than I had expected;) how I had there
met the Unknowa, been warmed of danger
by Prairie Flower, and what followed; how
I had subsequently accompanied the party
to Oregon; how I had proposed to Lilian,
been accepted, and on what conditions;
and how I hud at last been led to set off in
search of my dearest friend, and what had
happened on the journey. In short, I gave
him condensed particulars of all that had
occurred since we parted, not forgetting
my night search for him, and the effect of
his loss upon me at los Angelos.

He listened attentively throughout, oc-
casionally interrupting me with questions,
on points of more than usual interest, or
where, in my hasty narration, I had failed
to make the matter clear to him.

" Strange! strange!" he said, when I
had done; "very, very strange is all this!
It all looks improbable — seems impossible
-v^and yet I do not doubt your word. So,
then, I am not worth a dollar 1" *

'^ Do not let that trouble you, Charles!
While I have money, neither you nor your
friends shall want."

" I know it, Frank," he said, pressing
ray hand warmly; " I know it. That, at
present, is the least of my concern. And
80 you have seen the Unknown? and she
is called Eva Mortimer?" He mused a
moment, and added: *^ Well, this is more
singular than all. Frank, we must set out
for Oregon i mmediately ! "

*f As soon as you please. And now tell
me something of your own adventures."

" Alas!" sighed he, " after the painful
news you have communicated, I feel my-
self unable to enter into particulars. I
will give you something in brief, for I know
your curiosity is excited. In fact, I will
give you the outline of my story, and anon
will fill it with detail."

" Proceed."

" At the time we separated to follow the
wounded goat," he began, '* I hurried
around the foot of tiie mountain which you
were ascending. In my haste, I missed
the path, and had spent some time in
searching for it, when suddenly I found
myself surrounded by half-a-dozen gueril-
^^, who, it seems, were in waitipg here

for the return of a larger party, momenta-
rily expected, when all designed an attack
upon some merchants coining in from San-
ta Fe. A single glance showed me resis-
tance were useless, and I surrendered my-
self a prisoner. They seized and began
stripping me of every thing valuable, when
it occurred to me I could let you know my
situation, and I accordingly shouted as if
calling to a party of my friends. The
next moment I was seized and g9,gged9
when the cowards, fearful I suppose this
precaution had been taken too late, (for a
cheer from you was heard in answer,) and
that they might be attacked soon, if they
remained where they were, began to sneak
away, taking me with them.

" When they had rendered themselves
safe, by penetrating farther into the moun-
tains, they kept quiet till nigfht, and then
sallied forth to the readeurous, where they
joined the others, in all some twenty per-
sons.

" A consultation was now held, whether
I should be put to death or taken along and
sold into slavery. The latter was finally
adopted; and Gonzalez, the chief, took me
under his charge. Taking the great Span-
ish trail, we set off towards Santa Fe,
travelling mostly in the night and lying by
through the day, often in ambush for some
unfortunate wayfarers, who, in the encoun-
ters that sometimes ensued, generally lost
both money and life. My dear Frank, I
could describe events which have passed
before my own eyes, that would make your
hair stand with horror; but these are al-
most irrelevant to my story, and so I shall
omit them.

" It was a strange fancy they had form-
ed of selling me into slavery, and I could
never rightly comprehend it. It could not
have been for the amount I would bring —
for that W8S small, in comparison to the
trouble I must have cost them in guarding
me from escape. No! I am inclined to
think it the result of a whim — perhaps
of the chief — who ever treated me with
as much leniency as I could expect, or
have dared to ask for. Still I was made
to do menial services, and used as a
slave; and it might have been my life was
pr^erved:for this; for save myself,, th^ par-.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

59

ty had no servant. O! how it made my
blood boil at times, when [ thought what
I had been, and what I was! and how I
groaned in secret, to think what must be
your feelings, and the feelings of my
friends, should th« latter ever hear of my
fate! But I still had hope; I was still alive;
and I struggled to bear up manfully, and
be resigned to my lot till Providence should
favor my escape.

" The first hundred miles I was forced
to proceed on foot — the robbers having no
horses but what they rode themselves.
Sometimes they travelled fast, obliging
me to keep them company, and in conse-
quence I suffered most severely. At last
one of the band got killed in an affray, and
his beast was assigned to me, which prov-
ed a great relief.

" One day the chief informed me, that
if i would take the oath of his dictation, I
might join the band and have my freedom
—or rather, the freedom of a robber. I
declined his offer, in language so decisive
that he never after repeated the proposi-
tion, and I continued as before a slave.
But I must avoid detail.

" At last we reached the Sierra de los
Mimbres, where the band divided— the chief
and a few followers taking me down to San
Domingo, where I was offered for sale.
Not meeting with success here, he contin-
ued down through the several villages, and,
in short, to the very hacienda whither you
and another (God bless you both!) traced
me. Had he failed here in disposing of
me to Pedro Lopez, I do believe he would
have put an end to my existence.

"After much quibbling, the bargain was
at last struck, and I became the property
of Pedro Lopez. I shall now pass over
the period of my slavery — the most unhap-
py one of my life. True, I was treated
better than my companions, and, on the
whole, suffered much less physically than
mentally. But still I knew myself a. slave
— knew I was degraded; and the thought
of my position — that thus I might be doom-
ed to spend my days— ^nearly drove me
mad. Sometimes evil thoughts would en-
ter my head; and then I would half resolve
t« kill my master and take the consequen-
ces, or put an end to my own being. Then

hope would revive, that something might
turn up for 4ny deliverance, and I would
strive to labor on, resigned to bide my time.
Thus a year rolled around, when one day
Pedro Lopez came to me and inquired if
I were contented with my situation! At
first I thouorht he was mocking me, and 1
half-raised a garden-tool Ihad in my hand
to dash out his brains. He must have
guessed my intention from* my looks; for
he took a step back, and bade me be calm
and give him a civil answer. I replied by
inquiring if he would feel contented to be
a slave in a foreign land? He shook his
head, and said he would not — that he had
felt for my situation from the first- — and
that that was the cause of my being treat*
ed better than my companions. He then
told me, that as I had ever behaved myself
with propriety, and as he had been offered
a fair ransom by a small tribe of Indians,
if I felt disposed to go with them he would
give up all claim to mc. A thought flash-
ed upon me, that possibly this might be
the tribe of Great Medicine, and I begged
to see them. My request was granted,
and the first glance showed me I was right
in my conjectures; and uttering a joyful
cry, I rushed outside the gate, to where
they were assembled before the walls of
the hacienda.

"Frank, it is impossible for me to de-
scribe my feelings then. Life, liberty,
every thing joyous, seemed bursting upon
me at once, and my brain grew dizzy with
the exhilerating, intoxicating thoughts*
I hugged the first Indian I met; I danced,
capered aronnd, shouted,, laughed, cried —
in short, did every thing extravagant to
give my overpowering feelings vent. For
an hour or two I was insane with joy, and
my reasoning powers as bewildered as
those of a lunatic. At last I began to
grow calm; and then I went around to each
of my old friends and shook them by the
band, thanked them with tearful eyes and
trembling voice for my deliverance, and r^-
ceiired their congratulations and caresses
in return.

"Bnt where wa| Prairie Flowerl As
y^t I ' had not seen her. I made the inqui-
ry, but could get no direct answer. Some
shook tbeit headi^ others said she was nati

' 60

LENI-LEOTI:

here, and others again that she was away.
Finding none would answer me. I conclud-
ed they had a sufficient reason for their
evasion, and dropped the subject,

" When every thing had been satisfacto-
rily arranged, and I become reasonably so-
bered down, we all set out toward the
north. A horse had been provided for me,
and all were mounted — the females, of
whom there were several, mostly on mules.
"Some three miles from the hacienda, we
reached a heavy wood. Entering this
about a milo, we made a halt by a spring.
While watering the animals, I heard a dis-
tant rustling of the bushes, and the tramp
of more horses. Presently an airy figure,
gaily attired, and mounted on a coal black
Indian pony, burst throug(h a dense copse
near me, followed by five dusky maidens,
and rode swiftlv up to where I was stand-
ing by my steed.

"'Prairie Flower!' I «houted; and the
next moment she was on her feet, and her
hand clasped in mine.

"O, the emotions of that moment! Time
seemed to have turned his wheel back-
ward, and years of toil, and grief, and fa-
tigue, were forgotten. Passion*, which
had slumbered, or been half obliterated by
other events, were again awakened and
wrenched from their secret recesses; and
I saw her as I had seen her three years
before, and felt all I had then felt, but in
a two-fold sense.

"As for Prairie Flower, she was pale
and exceedingly agitated. She grasped
my hand nervously, gave one searching
glance at my features, and burst into tears
— but did not speak. Then she sprang
away from me a few paces, dashed the
tears from her eyes, and returning with a
bound, asked me a dozen questions in a
breath: * How I had been? Where I had
beeni If I were well] If I were glad to
get my liberty^ and so on; and wound up
by adding; * She was rejoiced to see me,
and hoped I should be more fortunate here-
after.'

* * Throughout our first brief interview,
her manner was wild and her language al-
most incoherent — which, so different from
any thing I had seen, surprised and alarm-

then, without waiting an answer, ask
another and another, or make some re-
mark altogether irrelevant. At last, with
a hope that I would now be happy, she in-
formed me that she could see me no more
that day; and before I had time to reply,
she skipped away, sprang into her saddle
and was off — followed by all the females
of the tribe, and some half a dozen of the
other sex.

" This proceeding perplexed me not a
little. I asked several the meaning of it,
but they only shook their heads, and I
was left to ponder it over in secret.

" We pursued our way slowly toward
the north, and I saw nothing of Prairie
Flower, nor of those who had accompa-
nied her, till about noon of the succeeding
day, when she again joined us, with the
balance of the tribe, among whom were
some women and children I had not before
seen, which led me to infer there had been
two camps, and this supposition was sub-
sequently confirmed by Prairie . Flower
herself.

" My second meeting with Prairie Flow-
er was very diflferent from the first. She
was calm, constrained, and I fancied cold;
though somehow I was led to think this
rather forced than natural. She was po-
lite, civil, and agreeable; but all that pas-
sionate enthusiasm of the previous day
was gone. She did not speak with free-
dom, and her words seenied studied, and
her sentences regulated by previous
thought. In fact, she seemed to have re-
lapsed into the same state as when we first
were guests of herself and tribe. There
was either something very mysterious
about this^ or else it sprang from one na-
tural cause — and my vanity, it may be, led
me to infer the latter. If she loved me,
her actions were easily accounted for; if
she did not care for me, why had she taken
so much pains, as her own lips revealed,
to hunt mj? outi

" In course of conversation which en-
sued, she narrated how she had met you —
under what circumstances — and how, urged
on by a sense of duty, she had at once set
off with her tribe in the hope of learning
something more of my fate. Fortune fa-

ed me. She would ask a question, and ' vored her; for while on her way south, she

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST. >

61

met with an old mountaineer, who gave
her tidings of a cheering nature. As her
adventures have been so much like your
own, Frank, I shall not enter into detail.
Enough that she was successful in finding
me, and that I am here.

" Day after day, as we travelled north,
I had more or less interviews with Prairie
Flower; but though she ever treated me
with respect and politeness, she always
studied to avoid familiarity.

" At last we reached the present spot,
where the tribe have encamped for a few
weeks, or until the fishers and hunters
shall have laid in a supply of provisions,
when they intend proceeding farther north.
From Prairie Flower having seen you
where she did, I inferred you had gone
home, and every day have been intending
to follow. But somehow, when the time
has come to start, I have again put it off
for another twenty-four hours, and thus
have been delaying day after day, for what
purpose I hardly know myself. I believe
I have been held here by some charm too
powerful to break, and now that you have
come I am glad of it."

" And thai charm," said I, as my friend
concluded with a sigh, " is Prairie Flow-

er.

»

" It may be," he answered, musingly.
" She is so strange — I do not know what
to make of her. She is not an Indian — I
feel certain of that; but as to who she is,
I am as unenlightened as ever. Do you
really think she loves me, Frank]" he ask-
ed suddenly, rousing himself and fastening
his eye earnestly upon mine.

" How can I answer]" I said, evasively.
** But I know of one that does, Charles."

" You mean the Unknown — or rather,
Eva Mortimer]" he rejoined, musingly.

" I do. I have already delivered her
message, sufficient to assure you of the
fact; and she is certainly one worthy of
being loved."

" It may be," he sighed, " and there was
a time, Frank, such intelligence would
have made me happy. But now — (he
"paused, shook his head, and mused a mo-
ment) — now it is not so. When I first
saw Eva, I had never seen Prairie Flower;
and ere the germ of a first passion had

been brought to maturity, the tree was
transplanted to another soil, and the sun
of another clime, although it did not change
its nature, ripened it to another light. Or,
to drop all metaphor," he added, •* Eva was
the first to arouse in me a latent passion,
which doubtless a proper intercouse would
have warmed to a mutual attachment; but
ere this was consummated — ere I even
knew who she was — without a hope of
ever seeing her again — I departed, and
have never beheld her since. She touch-
ed some secret chord in my breast, and I
dwelt on her memory for a time, and loved
her as an unapproachable ideal, rather
than as an approachable substance. I
loved her— -or fancied I did — rather that I
had nothing else on which to place my af-
fections, than for any substantial cause.
In another I afterward found a resem-
blance which arrested my attention, and
changed the current of my thoughts. The
singular mannerin which we were thrown
together — our daily interviews — my grati-
tude to her as the preserver of my life and
yours — her generosity — in short, the con-
centration in her of every noBle quality —
the absence of all others — gradually drew
me to Prairie Flower; and ere I was aware
of it myself, I found her presence neces-
sary to my happiness. At last we parted,
as you know how, and I strove to forget
her; but, Frank, though I mentioned her
not to you, I now tell ycu, that I strove a
long time in vain. By day and by night,
in a greater or less degree, did she occupy
my thoughts; and it was only when mis-
fortunes fell upon me that her image gra.^
dually gave place to more trying thoughts.
But our second meeting — an additional
debt of gratitude for deliverence from sla-
very — has done the work; and I now feel
I can love none but Prairie Flower."
" Then you are really in love, Charles]"
"1 am; and I fear hopelessly so."
" I fear so too," sighed I. " But where
is Prairie Flower] I must see and thank
her from my heart."

As I spoke, the subject of our conversa-
tion glided into the rude lodge and stood
before me.

62

LENI-LEOTfr

I
^

CHAPTER XIL

APPEARANCE OF PRAIBIE FLOWER — HER
BEAUTY— HER STRONG RESEMBLANCE TO
EVA — STARTLING SUSPICION — MAKE IT
KNOWN — HER AGITATION— PROMISED IN-
QUIRY—ABRUPT DEPARTURE— MY FRIEND
IN LOVE — INTERRUPTION.

" Prairie Flower! my dearest friend 1" I
exclaimed, springing to roy feet and clasp-
ing her extended hands in both of mine:
" Prairie Flower! this is a happy meeting
— most happy r*

" I am very glad to see you, Mr. Leigh-
ton," she said, with something like a sigh;
"very, very glad!" jnd she closed in a
tremulous tone, while her dark eyes filled
with tears.

O, how beautiful she looked, as we stood
face to face, her hands clasped in mine!
Never had she appeared more lovely! —
Since our first meeting, time had ripened
her to full maturity; and though her sweet
countenance was pale and sad, and though
something like care and thought could be
traced thereon, yet it was so mellowed, so
blended with something lofty and noble,
that it added a peculiar charm to her ap-
pearance which mere physical beauty
could not sustain. It was a something
that, while you admired, awakened your
sympathy, and drew you to her, as toward
one you felt it your duty and delight to
soothe, cherish, and protect. As I gazed
upon her a moment in silence, I became
forcibly struck with ^e resemblance she
bore to Eva Mortimer. She was a shade
darker, perhaps; but this might be owing
to her life in the mountains, and constant
exposure to the free, bracing air. There
was the same mould of feature, and in her
nowssd and thoughtful expression, a mark-
ed resemblance to that I had seen on the
countenance of Eva as she bade me fare-
well. A sudden thought sent a hot flash
over me, and involuntarily I took a step
backward and scrutinized her again. Good
heavens! could it be possible! No! no!
it was too visionary! And yet why too
visionary, I said, half aloud. As strange
things had happened. Eva had a sister —
a twin sister — who was lost at an infantile

age— who had been stolen away. There
was no existing proof— or at least none to
my knowledge — that that sister was dead;
no one knew what had become of her. —
Here was a being of her own age appar-
ently, and of a marked resemblance. Her
history she would never touch upon— per-
haps did not know. Might Prairie Flow-
er not be that twin sister] The thought,
the suspicion, was wild and romantic — but
I what argument was there against itl The
ways of Providence are strange, but not
in all cases past finding out.

" It must — it must be so!" I ejaculated,
completely absorbed with my speculations,
and forgetful of every thing around me.

I was aroused from my revery, by the
voices of both my friend and Prairie
Flower.

** What is the matter, Frankl" cried
Huntly, grasping my arm, shaking me, and
gazing upon me with a look of alarm. —
^* Speak to me! speak! that I may know
you have your reason!"

" Are you ill, sir]" joined in Prairie
Flower, with a startled look. " I fear you
are ill, Francis! Fatigue has overcome
him," she added to Huntly. " Better get
him to lie down on the mat, while I run
for assistance."

" Stay! Ptay !" I exclaimed, as the latter
turned to depart. " I am not ill. I was
only — I beg your pardon! — did I act
strangely]"

" As I never saw you before," replied
Huntly. "You stared wildly at Prairie
Flower, and spoke incoherently. Tell me!
are you in your senses]"

"Most certainly I am. 1 was only
thinking of— of "

" Of what, pray]"

" Prairie Flower, speak!" I exclaimed,
addressing her, as she stood near the en-
trance, uncertain whether to depart or not:
"Speak! what do you know of your his-
tory]"

" My history]" she repeated in surprise.
" Have I not forbid you "

"Never mind now! I have important
reasons for asking."

She colored to the eyes, and seemed
greatly embarrassed.

" What reasons can you have," she re-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

68

joined, " for asking this, in this wild man-
nerl You surprise and alarm me!"

" A resemblance," I replied, " a strong
resemblance you bear to another. Fear
not to tell me and my friend what you
know, and we promise, if necessary, to
keep your secret inviolate."

" Ay> do, Prairie Flower!" urged Hunt-
ly, vehemently, who now comprehended
the whole matter. " Speak, dear Prairie
Flower, without reserve! Speak, I pray
you! for much depends upon your answer."

"Are you both mad?" she said, looking
from one to the other, as if doubting our
sanity.

" No! no!" I returned, " we are not mad,
but in our sober senses. A weighty rea-
son, which my friend did not at first, but
now understands^ and all important to you
as well as ourselves and others, induces
the inquiry. Come, sweet Prairie Flow-
er! will you not grant our request?"

She hung down her head, tapped the
earth with her foot, and seemed confused
and agitated. I approached and gentiy
took . her hand, and again in a soothing
voice entreated her to tell us all she knew,
reit^ating my promise, that, if necessary,
it should never pass to other ears.

" Say, sweet being! are you not of our
race? — are you not a pale-face 1"

For sometime she did not reply, during
wbich she seemed struggling to master
her emotions. At length a half inaudible
" I am" escaped her lips.

"I thought so — I could almost have
sworn iti" I returned, triumphantly. "And
your parents, Prairie Flower?"

She burst into tears, and hid her face in
her hands.

" Nay, sweet Prairie Flower, be calm!"
I added. " Do not let this affect you so
seriously. I do not seek to pry into your
private affairs, only so far as I fancy the
knowledge imparted may benefit yourself.
Tell me — did you or do you know your pa-
rents?"

She shook her head and sobbed aloud.

" Believe me, gentle maiden, nothing is
farther from my design, than to wound
your feelings or recall painful associations.
Do you know how you came among the
Indians?"

" Something I know," she answered.

" Will you tell us what you know?"

" As you seem so anxious," she said,
making an effort to dry her tears, "I will,
on condition I gain the consent of Cha-
cha-chee-kee-hobah . "

" And what has he to do with it?"

" I have promised to reveal nothing with-
out his consent. And now I think of it,"
she quickly added, " perhaps I have done
wrong in saying what I have."

" Give yourself no uneasiness, Prairie
Flower; for even he could attach no blame
to what you have said. But bow came
you to promise him this?" '

" He exacted it of me as my guardian."

" Indeed ! Then he must know your
history?"

" lie knows more of it than I do."

" Then I must see him at once. Pray,
conduct me to him!"

" Nay, sir," she answered, " it were use-
less. He would tell you nothing. He is
old, and singular, and would look upon you
as an intruder. I will see him, and see
what can be done. He loves me, and I
have more influence over him than any
other of the tribe. If he refuse to tell
me, no earthly power can open his lips,
and the secret will go down to the grave
with him. But now let me hear some-
thing of yourself, and how we all came
to meet again in a manner so singular."

" One question more, Prairie Flower."

" Nay, no more. I will answer nothing
farther, till I have consulted the Old-Man-
of-the-Mountalns."

"Be it so, then," I answered; and the
conversation- changed to matters connect-
ed with my present adventure.

We were still engaged in recalling past
events, when an Indian maiden hurriedly
entered the lodge, and said something in
her own language to Prairie Flower.

" Indeed!" she exclaimed, starting and
turning deadly pale. " Gentlemen, excuse
me!" and she hastened from the cot.

*• What can be the meaning of this?'*
said Huntly.

" Some startling news, I judge. Per-
haps some one has been taken ill and sent*
for her."

" And so, Frank," returned Huntly the

64

LENI-LEOTI:

next moment, " you really think Prairie
Flower and Eva sisters)"

" There is so strong a resemblance, my
friend, that, until I have proof to the con-
trary, I can hardly believe otherwise."

" Strange!" he rejoined, musingly:
"Strange! very strange! Yet since you
have told me something of the history of
the Mortimers, I must say the matter looks
possible, not to say probable."

" At all events," I returned, " there is
mystery somewhere, and I shall not rest
till it be sifted to the bottom. I hope she
may prevail upon the old man to allow her
to tell what she knows, even if he add no-
thing himself."

" And should it turn out as we suspect,
Frank!" said Huntly with great energy,
grasping my arm as he spoke.

« Well)"

" You know I — that is "

" I understand. You would have her
the closest of kin — eh! Charles)" ,

" Say no more. I see you understand
me. But then, I " \

"Well, say on."

" I — that is — you — perhaps she — she
does not fancy me!"

" What! do you doubt)"

" Why, no — yes — I — I cannot say I

doubt — but — but she is so strange, Frank.

1 would give the world to have her talk

to me with the freedom she does to you."

" And if you really love her, Charles,
you should give the world to have every
thing exactly the reverse: in other words,
exactly as it is."

" What do you mean)"

" Why, simply, that bhe does not love

me.

j>

"Are you sure of this, Frank)" and
Huntly fastened his eyes intently upon
mine, as if to read my soul.

" Ag sure as that the sun shines at noon-
day."

" And you think she — she "

" Loves another."

Huntly turned deadly pale.

" Who, Frank)— who)"

" Charles Huntly."
^ " Indeed!" he exclaimed, with a rapid
change of countenance. " You think
this!"

" I know it."

He took a step backward and looked at
me hard a moment — during which his co-
lor came and went rapidly, and his breath-
ing became audible — and then said, im-
pressively: '

" Frank, do not jest with me! To me
this matter is of the gravest importance."
"I do not jest, Charles j I know your
feelings, and you may rest assured I would
be the last to jest with them."
" And you say she loves me)"
" I do." >

He grasped my hand, the tears sprang
into his eyes, and his voice trembled as he
rejoined:

" Frank, I thank you for these words.
I am suffering under deep afBiction — my
life is clouded — but, if this be true, there
is still sunshine — still an oasis in the des-
ert — still something to look forward to."
" My words are true, my friend, if that
is any consolation."

" And how have you discovered this so
suddenly)"

"I have not. I have known it all
along."
" Indeed! you never told it me before."
" True, and for good reasons."
" What reasons, I pray)"
" I did not wish to encourage an attach-
ment which may even yet prove hope-
less."
" What mean you)"
" As I told you once before: Prairie
Flower may love — nay, does love, mark
that! — but may never marry — may even
reject the suit of him she idolizes."
" For what cause)"

" That she is already wredded to her
tribe."

" But should she prove to be what we
suspect)"

"That may alter the case with her; and on
the strength of that supposition, and that
you have been so mysteriously brought to-
gether, and that I find your affections so
firmly placed upon her — have I ventured
to tell you what I have long known. But
remember, Charles, I warn you not to be
too sanguine in your expectations!"

" Well," answered my friend, " I will
hope for the best. It is all very singu-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

65

lar!" he added, relapsing into a musing
mood.

" 1 suppose we had better not start for
Oregon to-day 1" said I, playfully.

" No, not to-day!" he replied; " not to-
day! To-morrow, perhaps."

Or, peradventure, the day following!"
Ay, peradventure."

At this moment Teddy, Pierre and Black
George appeared at the door to pay their
respects to my friend, and I quitted the
lodge, bidding them pass in.

i(

(C

CHAPTER Xni.

JOIN AN INDIAN CROWD — SILENT RECOGNI-
TION — GREAT MEDICINE ILL — ANXIETY TO

SEE HIM REAPPEARAN'^E OF PRAIRIE

FLOWER — DEVOTION — URGE HER TO QUES-
TION THE INVALID — SUSPENSE PRESENT

FAILURE — SUBSEQUENT SUCCESS — PRAI-
RIE FLOWER RESOLVES TO VISIT OREGON

AN EVENING STROLL — THE DEATH

WAIL.

As yet I had not exchanged a word with
any of the tribe but Prairie Flower; and
as I left the cot, I turned toward a crowd,
which was huddled together near the cen-
ter of the temporary village, their eyes all
fixed in a certain direction. I knew by
this, and the abrupt departure of Prairie
Flower, that something unusual had occur-
red; and hastening forward, I soon reach-
ed them, and, to my surprise, found most
of them in tears, and the others looking
very solemn.

" What has happened, my friends]" in-
quired I.

On hearing my voice, those nearest me
turned round and extended their hands in
silence. They then separated, so as to
allow me a passage through; and as I
moved along, J shook a hand of each on
either side. They appeared glad to see
me, but, at the same time, very sad, from
some untoward circumstance, of which I
felt anxious to be informed.

When I had concluded, I turned to an
intelligent youth, and inquired the cause
of each and all looking so serious.

He silently pointed his finger to the
center lodge, and after a solemn pause,
uttered:
" Great Medicine."
« Sick?"

He nodded his head.
This, then, accounted for the agitation
of Prairie Flower; and after what had
passed between us regarding her history,
it may readily be inferred I felt no little
anxiety to ascertain to what extent the
old man was indisposed, and whether his
case was, or was not, considered imme-
diateljT dangerous. He was very old I
knew, and in all probability would not long
survive. Should he die without revealing
to Prairie Flower her history, all depen-
dence of proof from her would be cut ofi",
and it would doubtless be a very difiicult,
if not an impossible endeavor, to indenti-
fy her with the lost daughter of Madame
Mortimer. On this account, as well as
for old acquaintance-sake, I was very anx-
ious to enter the lodge — at the door, or
just outside of which, were standing sev-
eral females, weeping. I made a step for- '
ward for this purpose, when an Indian
touched me on the shoulder and shook his
head, as a sign that I must go no nearer.
" I have most important business with
the invalid," I said. " Can I not be per-
mitted to see himi"
He again shook his head.
" But this matter is urgent."
" No one must see him," he answered,
" but such as he desires to see."
" Then let me see Prairie Flower."
" She must not now be called. We
wait her appearance."
" Will she soon be herel"
"Cannot say.*'

There was nothing to do, therefore, but
wait as patiently as I could. What trou-
bled me the most, was the fear that the
old man might die suddenly, and Prairie
Flower, in her agitation, neglect to ques-
tion him till too late. For an hour I paced
to and fro, in a very uneasy mood, revolv-
ing these things in my mind, when the
latter made her appearance outside the
lodge, where she was instantly surrounded
by those nearest in waiting, all eager for
her intelligence. Having spoken a few

66

LENI-LEOTI:

words with them, they all moved slowly
away with sorrowful looks, and Prairie
Flower approached to where I was staod-
in^. The Indians, though as anxious as
myself to gain her tidings, moved not from
their places, but waited in respectful si-
lence for her to open the conversation. I,
however, not being bred in the same school
with them, could not exercise the same
patience; and taking a few steps forward,
I said:
" Great Medicine is ill, Prairie Flower?"
" He is," she answered, in a tremulous
voice.

"Very illl dangerously ill?" I inquir-
ed.
" I fear he is."

•The Indians behind me, on hearing this,
uttered/several deep groans, but said not a
word.
" Can he survive, Prairie Flowerl"
" I think not," she answered, mournful-
ly shaking her head.

" Any particular disease]"
" Only age and debility. He is very
old, and has not been well for some tinio.
A few minutes before I was called, he was
taken very ill. I fear his time to go is at
hand. Friends," she added, addressing
her tribe, " you are about to lose one you
love and reverence. Let us commend his
soul to the Great Spirit;" thereupon each
and all kneeled upon the earth in prayer.
When this was over, I turned to Prairie
Flower again.

" Pardon me, fair being!" I said, " at
this solemn time, for intruding worldly
thoughts upon your attention. But the
Old-Man-of-the-Mountains is about to de-
part, in all probability, to join his fathers
and friends in another state. You think
he holds the key to your history. If you
have not already, would it not be well for
you to bid him unlock the memories of the
past, so far as relates to yourself]"

" True," she answered, with a start; " I
had forgotten that. 1 fear it is too late;
for already his voice falters, and he seems
standing midway between time and eter-
nity, and slowly receding toward the sha-
dowy land of spirits."

" Fly!" I urged: " Fly, Prairie Flower!
and do your beat, ere all is over!"

** I will," she said; and at once hasten-
ed back to the lodge.

For another hour I paced to and fro
impatiently, ever and anon turning my
eyes upon the hut where the old man was
breathing his last. At length Prairie
Flower reappeared, and with her three In-
dian maidens, all weeping and seeming
very much dejected. On leaving the lodge,
each went separate ways through the vil-
lage, Prairie Flower approaching me di-
rect.

" To prayer!" she said, addressing her
friends, who still remained as she had left
them.

All again kneeled as before. When
they rose to their feet, I addressed her:
" What news, Prairie Flowerl"
" He is sinking very fast," she answered,
sadly.
" Did you gain any information!"
"No! I addressed him on the subject,
but he only looked at me vaguely, and did
not seem to comprehend what I said."

" Alas! I fear it is too late, Prairie
Flower!"

" I fear so," she rejoined. " But he may
revive a little; and if he do, I will ques-
tion him again."

With this she returned to the lodge of
the invalid, while I proceeded to join my
friend, and inform him what had occurred.
I found Huntly as I had left him, in com-
pany with my compagnons d^voyage, all en-
gaged in an animated conversation.

" Well," he said, as I entered, " what
news, Frank? Something has happened,
I know by your sober looks."

I proceeded to detail what had transpir-
ed, and the fears I entertained.

" This is unfortunate," he said, when I
had done; " most unfortunate."

The sun was some half an hour above
the hills, when Prairie Flower again join-
ed us in haste. Pierre, Teddy and Black
George had left some time before, so that
no one was in the cot but myself and
friend, and we were so deeply engaged in
discussing the various matters which had
transpired, as not to be aware of her close
proximity till she spoke:

"Where is this person," she asked,.
" whom I resemble]"

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

en

" I left her in Oregon City," I replied.
" That is far away," she rejoined, mu-

8ingl|r.

" But what success, Prairie Flowcrl"

"Better than I expected."

" Indeed! You give us joy."

" As I observed he might do, when I
quitted you,*^ she answered, "the old man
again revived, when I immediately put the
question as to what he knew of my his-
tory. He seemed much surprised, and in-
quired my reasons for asking. I hurriedly
informed him of your conjectures. He
listened attentively, and seemed ill at ease.
He had promised, he said, in reply, never
to divulge, during his natural life, who I
was, nor any thing connected with my
earliest years."

" Ha! then he knows your history him-
self?"

" Nay, do not interrupt me."

" I crave pardon! Go on!"

" Yes," continued Prairie Flower, " he
said he knew much concerning me, but
did not know all; that something had whis-
pered him this information might be valu-
able to me at some future time; iind that
he had recorded it on a roll of parchment,
which he had purchased of a trader for the
purpose. This parchment, he said, was
concealed under a stone, in a certain place,
which none but such as to whom he might
reveal the secret would ever be able to
find. He farther said, that if in truth I
had a sister and mother living, I had bet-
ter perhaps seek them out, and should
they recognise and claim me, I could then
do as I saw proper, either cling to them or
my tribe; that although I had been reared
for the most part among Indians, and had
adopted their habits and customs, still I
was not of their race— ^not of their blood —
and he could therefore see nothing unna-
tural or improper in my desiring to form
acquaintance with my own kin. But, he
added, lest I should meet with disappoint-
ment'— in my kin, or those I supposed to
be such, not claiming me on what I and
they might know — he thought it better I
should remain ignorant of myself, until I
had seen them face to face, when, should
all turn out as I desired, it would be time
enough to produce proof; and that if I

would promise to go hi quest of them be
fore perusing, or allowing another to pe-
ruse, the parchment in qtiestion, he would
make its locality known."

" What a singular request!" said I.

" True," replied Prairie Flower; " but
as I have said before. Great Medicine is
a very singular being, and an enigma to all.

" And did you agtee to his proposition?"

" I did, though somewhat reluctantly.
But I knew if I did not, that the secret
would die with him, and of this I could not
bear to think."

" And so he told you all!"

« He did."

" And where is the parchment conceal-
ed)"

" Nay," she answered, shaking her head,
" I do not know as I am at liberty to tell."

" I beg your pardon, Prairie Flower! I
certainly had no right to question. But
you will accompany us to Oregon Cityl"

"That is what I came to speak about,"
she replied, timidly. " You really think
your conjectures are right?"

" We do," answered Huntly. " Every
thing tends to convince us so. At first,
what was only a vague suspicion with us,
has since grown almost to a certainty. —
Come, go with us, sweet Prairie Flow-
er! Say you will go, and I shall be hap-
py."

Prairie Flower changed color as Hunt-
ly spoke, and turned aside her head.

" And you will allow me a few compan-
ions'?" she timidly inquired.

" As many as you please," returned
Huntly, " so you will consent to go."

" But when do you start?"

" We will wait your time."

" My duty," she said, solemnly, " is
henceforth by the side of Cha-cha-chee-
kee-hobah, till he take his departure to
the land of eternal rest — then to follow
his remains to the grave — which done, I
shall soon be ready to join you. Adieu,
for the present! I must return to him
now."

Saying which, she quitted the lodge.

" At last," said Huntly, turning to me:
" At last, Frank, I have hope. Let us
forth and take the evening air — for strange
thoughts are crowding my breast*"

68

LENI-LEOTI:

Arm in arm we strolled through the lit-
tle village, where the solemn faces of all
we met bespoke the gloom of mourning
for one universally beloved, and took our
way down to the little streamlet, which,
all unconscious of mortal change, ran
murmuring on as it had done perchance
for ages. All nature reposed in her moSt
charming beauty of quietude. The sun
was just beginning to sink behind the lof-
ty mountains to the westward, and the last
flood-light of day made golden the tiny
waves of the water, and began to hasten
the long shadows, precursors of diurnal
night, and that night of death which knows
no waking. The very air seemed solemn,
it was so still. Scarce a breath nioved,
and the leaflets hung down their heads as
if in sorrow- The feathered warblers,
which had made music all day, were wind-
• ing up their tunes with what seemed a
melancholy cadence. A few night-watch-
ers had just began to give each other calls
in timid tones, as if half afraid their voices
were trespassing upon a scene too sacred.
It was just calm enough, and mild enough,
and lovely enough, and solemn enough, to
awaken meditative thought — that thought
in which all the unutterable poetry of our
nature becomes infused. When the out-
ward sense bids the inner tongue speak to
us in language which the enraptured soul
only comprehends. When we feel a mel-
ancholy happiness, and a desire to steal
away from every thing living, and in soli-
tude commune with ourselves and our God.
When the natural voice jars discordantly
with the finer and more elevated tones of
our being, proceeding from the spirit-harp,
touched by the unseen hand of the All-
pervading Deity. When, in short, we
feel drawn b} an unexplainable sympathy
to a lonely meditation on things high and
holy, beyond the matter-of-fact events of
every day experience. Did you never feel
thus, reader] Did you never steal away
from your daily cares, your business, your
friends — from every thing common and
evanescent — to hold a quiet communion
with your nobler thoughts ?-^and then trace
those thoughts, as it were, to their prim-
eval source — the eternal fount of the Great
All-GoodI And are not such sweet

thoughts, and sweet moments of nappy
rest, in a life more or less filled with tar-
moil and pain? For myself, I answer yes;
for I look upon them as foretastings of a
state of blissful and eternal beatitude,
when the changing circumstances of this
life shall trouble us no more forever.

Thus I felt, and thus my friend, on the
present occasion. Deep thought with
both was too busy for words, and we gain-
ed the rivulet in silence. Some fifty yards
above us was a large, flat rock, overhang-
ing the gurgling waters. Toward this
Huntly silently pointed; and obeying the
gesture, I accompanied him thither. Seat-
ed at length upon it, our eyes simultane-
ously fixed upon the rapid current laving
its base, and our ears drank in its music,
while the sunlight gradually departed the
stream, the deepening shadows of night
stretched over us, growing more and more
somber, and the stars here and there be-
gan to peep out in the heavens, and shine
brighter and more bright, till the firmament
above appeared blazoned with thousands
on thousands of shining worlds, the ar-
morial bearings of the Great Omnipotent.
Still we sat in silence — now soaring in
thought to another existence — now dwel-
ling upon the wonders of nature as a com-
plicated whole, or equally complicated, in-
explicable part — and anon reviewing the
past, touching upon the present, and leap-
ing forward in imagination to the future —
that future, to the young, of golden hopes
and bright anticipations, destined for the
most part never to be realized. Thus we
mutely sat, for an hour or more, when
Huntly broke the silence.

" Frank," he said, " what a charm, what
a solemn charm there seems in every thing
to-night! I have been musing, as it were,
upon every thing. I have been back to
my boyhood days, when I was wild, giddy,
reckless and frolicksome. When I had
no thought beyond the sport of the hour,
and no ambition but to make a jest of my
fellow beings. I have traced up our youth-
ful sports (for you and I were almost one,
you know,) to that sudden resolve which
parted me for the last time from my be-
loved father."

Here his voice faltered to a pause, and

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

69

for some moments he remained silent, with
his face bowed upon his hands. Then
raising hia head, he dashed away a few
tears and resumed:

" I have recalled event after event to
the present time, and find, in my reckless
career, that I have much, too much, to re-
gret. But I believe in an overruling, mys-
terious Power, and that there has been a
purpose in all beyond my own simple in-
clinations. Adversity, I feel, has been for
the best, by working in me a great change.
Yes, Frank, I am a changed being. From
boyhood I have passed to manhood, and
from the idle follies of youth, to the wiser
and more sober thoughts of maturer age.
" Once I was all for adventure and
change — but now the case is different. I
have seen enough, and am satisfied. Let
me once more be comfortably situated,
with a home and friends, means to gain
an honest living, and, Frank, one, one
sweet being to cheer me with her smiles
over the otherwise toilsome path of life —
and I shall rest content."

" A great change this, in Charles Hunt-
ly, most certainly," I said; " a great change
indeed! But perhaps no more than in my^
self; for I, too, am tired of adventure, and
ardently long for those very joys (joys now,
Charles, tliough once it was not so,) of
which you speak."

" Hark!" exclaimed my friend at this
moment. " What sound is that]"

A long, loud, mournful wail came borne
upon the air.

" Alas!" said I, " it speaks a soul de-
parted!"

" Let us return," said Huntly, with a
sigh; and forthwith we set out for the vil-
lage.

On our way thither, we several times
heard the same melancholy sound; and as
we entered the precincts of the little set-
tlement, \ife beheld somber figures moving
to and fro, bearing lighted torches. As
we drew near the center lodge, I discover-
ed Prairie Flower, in company with sev-
eral of her own sex, moaning with grief.
*She espied us as we came up, and, sep-
arating from her companions, approached
and extended a hand to each.
" Alas! my friends," she sighed, " I need

your sympathy. He who has been to me
a guardian — a father — is now no more."

Her voice faltered as she spoke, and
withdrawing her hands from ours, she cov-
ered her eyes and wept aloud.

CHAPTER XIV.

BURIAL or GREAT MEDICINE — PREPARATIONS
TO DEPART ^AFFECTIONATE LEAVE-TAK-
ING ROUTE NORTHWARD — PRAIRIE FLO-
WER IN A NEW LIGHT — THE DESERTED
VILLAGE — THE DESIGNATED SPOT — HOPES
ANDFEARS— DISAPPOINTMENT— TREASURE
FOUND — STRANGE DEPOSIT OF GOLD —
SPECULATIONS — ON THE MOVE — ^IN SIGHT
OF OREGON CITY.

As I have, in " Prairie Flower," descri-
bed the solemn ceremony by which the
Mysterious Tribe consign to dust the mor-
tal remains of such of their number as are
called hence by death, I shall not here re-
peat it — presuming that all who read the
present tale, will have perused the other.

The second day from his death, was the"
one set apart for the burial of the Old-
Man-of-the-Mountains. Each of my par-
ty, and every one of the tribe was present,
and the funeral rite was conducted in the
most solemn manner. As it had been the
province of the deceased to enact a pecu-
liar part on all similar occasions, and as
this constituted one of their forms of wor-
ship, it became necessary for the tribe to
select one of their number to fill his place.
The. one chosen for the office, which he
was to hold till death, was an old white-
haired Indian, of benevolent aspect, who
at once etered upon his duties, and thence-
forth took the title of " Great Medicine."

A grave was dug in the valley by the
little stream, and here the deceased was
buried, with all the mournful honors befit-
ting his station. Great were the lamen-
tations, and many the tears shed, as his
body was lowered to his last, long, nar-
row home — the house appointed for all liv-
ing! When his remains had been cover-
ed from the sight of all, and the *' Last
Dirge" had been chanted, several Indian

70

LENl-LEOTI:

maidens brought and strewed flowers over
the damp earth, and then repeating, " Sleep
in peace, heloved!" each of the tribe took
a solemn leave of the spot, and slowly and
sadly retraced their steps to the village.

An hour or two later, Prairie Flower
sought me out and said:

<* I suppose, my friend, you are anxious
to be on your way]"

" At your earliest convenience," I re-
plied.

" I do not wish to detain you," she re-
joined; " but if you can delay another day,
it will greatly oblige me, as I have much
to attend to ere I depart."

" A day, either way, will make but little
difference," said I; ''and moreover, we
oould not expect you to leave sooner, after
what has occurred."

" Thank you," she replied. " I will
hasten all my arrangements, and at sun-
rise to-morrow will be yours to command;"
and she left me to begin her preparations.

In the course of the day, Prairie Flow-
er informed the tribe what had transpired
relative to herself, and also her present
design. The younger members, who had
always looked upon her as one of them-
selves, were much surprised, and all were
very sad at the thought of parting with
one so dear to them. They could not but
admits under the circumstances, it was her
duty to go; but they made her promise, in
case events should turn up inducing her
to withdraw from them altogether, she
would at least pay them one more visit, ere
she said the final fu-eweli. She then
made choice of three young men and two
maidens to be her companions, and select-
ed five noble steeds for them to ride, re-
serving the little pony to herself.

At daylight on the following morning
the whole village was astir; and having
broken our fast, the horses were caught
and saddled, and ere the sun was half an
hour above the hills, all were in readiness
to start. The parting scene between
Prairie Flower and her frienda was very
affecting. She embraced all of her own
sex — ^kissed the children over and over
again — shook the young men and aged by
4^6 hand — and amid tears at losing her,
i^nd earnest prayers fpr her safety and hap-

piness, sprang on her pony and dashed
away, tooc much affected to witness the
separation between those who remained
and those selected to accompany her. The
latter now took leave one by one; and
though much feeling was displayed on both
sides, yet it was very different from the
farewell of Prairie Flower.

" My friends," said Huntly, when it came
our turn to depart, " for your kindness to
me, I feel very, very grateful — but at pre-
sent, the only return in my power to make
is thanks. Should I ever have an oppor-
tunity to do more, you shall find that your
labors in my behalf have not been unwor-
thily bestowed. Farewell. If we meet
not again on eurth, I trust we may in a
better state."

Each of our party next proceeded to
shake hands with each of the tribe; and
as soon as this was over, we sprang upon
our horses, and, dashing away, soon joined
those in advance.

I must now pass rapidly over our jour-
ney, as but little occurred on the way o£
interest to the general reader. Our pro-
visions were supplied by our trusty rifles
— we sometimes killing a bear, a deer,
and once or twice a buffalo. Entering the
beautiful South Park — a kind of second
Eden — we pushed forward, and on the se-
cond day reached the head waters of the
South Fork of Platte, down which stream,
we continued to St. Vrain's Fort, where
we all arrived without accident. Here I
took leave of Pierre and Black George,
paying them liberally for their assistance,
and pursued our journey toward the Black
Hills, to the very spot where I had first
been introduced to the Mysterious Tribe,
and where, as I learned from Prairie Flow-
er, they intended making their winter
quarters.

On our way thither, Prairie Flower
threw off much of that reserve which she
had hitherto exercised toward Huntly; and
not unfrequedtly they rode on together for
miles, engaged in earnest conversation.—
The efi!bct of this upon my friend was very
gratifying to me; it seemed to divert his
thoughts from more painful subjects; and
I saw with pleasure that his pale, care-
worn fleature^B gradually returned their.

r

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

71

wonted appearance, and his eye, especial-
ly, its former luster. Still he was sad at
times — ^very sad — and then I knew his
thoughts were dwelling upon the loss of
his father, and the afflictions of his mother
and sister. He was naturally but little
given to despondency; and when in com-
pany with myself or another, ever strove
to be cheerful, that he might not cause us
the pain of sympathy.

Sometimes I held long private conver-
sations with Prairie Flower; and then she
would ask me over and over again about
her supposed sister and mother — whether
I thought they would be glad to own her —
and more than once made me recount what
little I knew of their history. This was
a theme of which she seemed never to
tire, and oftentimes would be affected to
tears. Then she would tell me how she
had mused over herself, and wondered who
she was — whether she had a mother liv-
ing — and if so, whether that mother ever
thought of her. Sometimes she had fan-
cied herself ignobly born — that she had
*> J^en cast off in infancy — and then she
nad gone away by herself and wept bitter
tears, and had prayed ardently that she
might be resigned to her fate. She loved
the Indians — among whom, at an early
age, her lot had been cast — to her they
were as brothers and sisters; but still the
knowledge that she was not of their race
— a secret yearning for the fond look and
tender tone of a mother — ^had troubled her
sorely; and nothing but the consolation of
religion, and the hope of at least meeting
her relatives in a better world, had sup-
ported her through her lonely trials.

Un\il I heard this from the lips of Prai-
rie Flower, I had no idea such was the
case, and had believed her contented and
happy in the position where Providence
had placed her, as had all who knew her.
But they, as well as I, had overlooked, that
where mystery clouds the birth of an in-
dividual, the thought of this to a sensitive,
intelligent mind — his or her speculations
upon it — the want of, the yearning for,
more knowledge— must at tflnes render
such, no matter what the outward seeming,
very unhappy.. It was this very thing,
f{erhaps, which had n^ade Prairie Flower

80 distant toward my friend, whom she
loved, as I knew, with a passion pure and
holy. She had thought herself unfit to be
his companion, and had nobly struggled to
undo what nature had done — and oh! what
a hopeless and painful struggle it had been!
— what an iron resolution it had required
to carry it out! — and how many sleepless
nights and miserable days it must have
cost her!

At last we reached the village, whereto,
some three years before, I had been borne
from the field of battle in an unconscious
state. What singular' associations the
sight of it revived! and hoW mournful its
present aspect! It was deserted, and si-
lent; and though most of its rude tene-
ments were still standing, yet their half
dilapidated appearance, and the general
air of long desertion and decay every
where visible, brought to mind Goldsmith's
unrivalled and beautiful poem of the " De- .
serted Village." We rode through the
little town in silence, noting each thing
as we passed — and when we had got be-
yond it, Prairie Flower turned, gazed back,
sighed deeply, wiped a few tears from her
eyes, and then urged her little pony for-
ward at a rapid pace.

A ride of half a mile brought us to a
huge old tree, with a hollow trunk, when
Prairie Flower came to a halt and said:

" My friends, this is the spot designated
by Great Medicine, as the one where I
should find a treasure to me more valuable
than a mine of gold. Beneath that stone
lies all or nothing. Oh! how I tremble,
lest it prove the latter. Heaven grant I
find what I seek!''

** Amen to that!" responded I; and the
whole party dismounted.

Leading the way, Prairie Flower passed
the tree a few feet, and rested her delicats
foot upon a stone of singular appear-
ance.

*< Here!'* she almost gasped, while her
features grew deadly pale with excitement,
and her frame shook nervously: "Here!"
and she pointed down with her finger, but
could say no more.

Forming a circle around the stone, we
all gazed upon it a moment in eilence, apdi
then addressing Huntly : .

72

LENI-LEOTI:

" Come, my friend,"! said, " let us raise
it."

Stooping down, we applied all our
strength to it in vain.

" It seems bedded in the earth by na-
ture," said Huntly.

" Oh, no! say not that!" cried Prairie
Flower in alarm. " Say not that, I beg
of you! This is the spot described to me
by the Old-Man-of-the-Mountains. I have
thought of it by day — dreamed of it by
night. I here have rested hopes of which
you little think. Hope^ whose realiza-
tion may render me the most happy, as
disappointment would the most miserable
being on earth. If I have made a mis-
take, it is a fatal one. A mistake

But no! no! it must not — must not be!
Help, here, some of you!" she added, ad-
dressing the others, "Be quick! and do
not keep me in this torturing suspense!"

She spoke hurriedly, almost incoherent-
ly, and her manner was very wild. As she
concluded, she clasped her hands and gaz-
ed down upon the rock with a look I shall
never forget. It was the agonized con-
centration of hope and fear. As if, in
truth, she feared herself about to lose the
only friend she had on earth. Instantly
Teddy and one of the Indians laid hold
with us, and our united efforts moved the
stone from its foundation. All pressed
forward, and eagerly gazed into the aper-
ture. Nothing was there, apparently, but
smooth, solid earth. For a moment Prai-
rie Flower stood stupified with amazement
and despair. Then burying her face in
her hands, she sank down upon the earth,
without uttering a syllable.

" Do not despair!" cried I; and bending
down, I felt the earth with my hand.

It was soft, as if it had once been re-
moved. I hastily dug down a few inches,
and my hand touched a solid substance.
Brushing away the dirt rapidly, I discover-
ed, to my unspeakable delight, a small
wooden box.

« 'Tis here!" shouted I, " 'tis here!" and
the next moment I bad torn it from the
ground, and stood triumphantly holding it
aloft.

My words roused Prairie Flower, who
started to her feet with a scream, caught

the box from my hand, pressed it eagerly
to her lips and heart, and then paced to
and fro, in an indescribable delirium of de-
light. At length she became more calm,
and turning to the rest of us, who stood
looking on in silence, she said, in one of
her sweetest tones:

" My friends, you must excuse me! — ^but
oh! you know not, cannot know, my feel-
ings for the last five minutes."

" We can at least imagine them," re-
turned I; "and certainly there is no apol-
ogy needed. We are only too happy in
discovering the treasure."

" Ay, treasure indeed!" she exclaimed,
holding the box from her, and gazing upon
it with a singular expression, " Ha!" she
added, " here is something written on the
outside;" and examining it a moment, she
added: "It is in the language of the My-
sterious Tribe, and translated, reads, < Seek
lower r "

" That implies something still below,"
observed Huntly; and stooping down, he
thrust his hand into the loose earth, and
presently drew forth a lump of pure gold,
weighing some three or four pounds.

Great was our astonishment on behold-
ing this; but it was increased the next
moment, by my friend bringing up two
more of nearly equal size and value. —
These lumps had no particular shape, and
had the appearance of being broken off
from a larger substance.

" This is strange!" remarked Prairie
Flower, as we all stood examining them;
" and where could Great Medicine have
procured them! There is no gold in these
mountains, that I am aware of — and yet
this seems fresh taken from a mine. And,
by-the-by , this reminds me that Great Me-
dicine was always well supplied with gold,
though where it came from, was always a
mystery to the rest of the tribe. And
see!" she added, giving one of the pieces
a close scrutiny: " See! here is my In-
dian name, Leni-Leoti, scratched upon it
with some sharp instrumenl."

" And on this," said Huntly, holding up
another.

" And on this," repeated I, turning over
the third.

" They were intended for you, Piairie

J

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

73

Flower," observed Huntly, addressing dier;
''and together form no mean gift.'*

" He was always kind to me, and I lov-
ed him," rejoined Prairie Flower, artless-
ly, her eyes filling with tears.

"But where could so much gold, in this
rou^ state, have been obtaiaedl" asked
HuBtly, turning to me.

A sudden thought flashed through my
mind, and I turned to Prairie Flower.

^ Was Great Medicine ever much
abroadV

« Never far from the tribe, since I first
knew him," was her answer.

** But the tribe has been rcf9^gV^

** Yesy we have seldom spent a year at
a time in one place."

** Were you ever in CaUfornial"

« One season we quartered on a beauti-
fnl oasis in the Great Desert, as we term-
ed it"

<' Ha! then there is some grounds for my
conjecture;" and taking Huntly aside, I re-
called to his mind the shiny sand we had
there gathered, and added: " I think we
were right in our surmises of its being
gold!"

" True," he answered, with a start; ** I
remember now, though I had completely
forgotten the circumstance."

" And so had I, till this revived it." '

*' Have you any of that sand with you,
Pranki"

*< I have not. Our subdequent perils
drove the matter from my mind; and if
any remained on my person when we ar-
rived at Sutter's, it was thrown away
with the tattered garments that contain-
ed it."

« Well, let it go!" rejoined Huntly, mu-
singly; *<let it go! There is gold there,
without doubt — and some day it will
doubtless be the means of great specula-
tion."

" This being the case, my friend, sup-
pose we make anoUter tour, and ascertain
for a certaintyl If true, our 'fortune is
made."

Huntly looked at me seriously for a mo-
ment, with a very peculiar expression of
countenance, and then rejoined, in a deci-
sive tone:

*' No, Frank! not even a mine of gold

6

would tempt me to encounter the perils of
such a journey again. Suppose I prove
successful and make a fortune — what
theni What is wealth, after all, that man
should make himself a slave? 'Tis here
— 'tis there — ^'tis gone. Look at my la-
mented father, for example! One day he
could count his thousands-^the next he
was a beggar; and the grave soon follow-
ed to cover a broken heart, t Fortune is
not happiness — therefore I'll pay no court
to the truant jade. Let those have wealth
who crave it; let them worship the golden
Mammon; for myself, let me be happy
with little, and I ask no more. But, come!
I see Prairie Flower and the rest are wait-
ing us, and we must be on the move."

Joining the others, we made farther
search, but finding nothing new, we all
mounted our horses and set forward— Prai«
rie Flower in better spirits than I had ever
seen her. Though in possession of the
box supposed to contain all she desired, yet
she absolutely refused to open it, lest she
might be tempted to an examination of its
contents, and thus break her promise to
the dying old man.

Summer had already passed, and the
mortal stroke of old Autumn was even
now beginning to be felt on the moijp-
tains. The trees, which had waved their
green leaves as an accompanimenti to the
music of the forest choir, were already
changing color, as if in dread of the steady,
onward strides of their annual, but ever-
conquering foe. The first process of de^^
cay had begun-'— but so beautiful, that one
as be ga2ed upon it, though it awakened
a solemn, almost melancholy train of
thought, could hardly wish it otherwise.
As we ascended the mountains higher and
more high, the scene below us became en-
chanting in its variety. Far, far away, for
miles upon miles, the eye roved over hill
and plain, while the soul, as it were, drank
in the very essence of nature's beauty. —
The atmosphere was cool and clear, and
the sun brilliant, but not warm. In every
direction there was sotiiething new for the
eye to rest upon — something new for the
mind to ponder. I beheld distant moun«
tains rising to the very skies — isolated,
glistening and cold in their lonely gran-

74

LENI-LEOTI:

ddur — as one who has ventured to the top-
most round of Ambition's ladder, and
scorns in bis elevation all meaner objects
grovelling in the dust below. I beheld
lovely valleys, as yet untouched by the
destroyer, still bright in their summer
garments, through which purled silvery
streams — the former doomed ere long to
put on the withered shreds of mourning,
and the latter to cease their murmurs in
the icy fetters of the advancing Winter-
King. In short, I beheld hills, and dales?
and forests, and rolling prairies, and rivers,
and rivulets — all spread before me in pic-
turesque succession — and all more or^esa
variegated with the many hued mantle of
autumn. The scene was enchanting; and,
as Prairie Flower, who with my friend
liad also been silently surveying it, ob-
served with a sigh:

" Most melancholy beautiful."

But lovely as was the view, I had but
little time for contemplation; for the long
journey before us, and the lateness of the
season, required us to hasten forward, that
we might pass the mountains before the
snow storms and ice of winter should com-
pletely bar our way. We had yet some
thirteen hundred miles to travel, and^with
every thing favorable, could not hope to
reach our destination in less than five or
six weeks. Fortunately our animals were
in good order — lightly laden — with no
troublesome vehicles creaking and rum-
bling after, to delay us with bad roads and
breaking accidents. #

Leaving Laramie Peak to our right, we
struck across the Laramie Plains to the
Sweet Water Mountains, and thence de-
scended to the great Oregon trail, cross-
ing the Rocky Mountains at the well
known South Pass. For the rest of the
distani^e, our road was to some extent a
travelled one, and our progress, with some
little delays, very rapid. As nothing of
unusual interest occurred on the route, I
shall pass it over without a record.

On the evening of the first day of No-
vember, 1843, we came in sight of the
lights of Oregon City, which we hailed
wiih three deafening cheers..

CHAPTER XV.

ABKIVE AT IfRB. BUNTLT's — FAJHFUL BTTS*-
MISES — ^THE WfiLCOMB VOICE — MEETIKO
OF LOVERS — OF BKOTHBR AKD 6ISTCS —
OF MOTHEB AHD SOH — TIDIHGS OF MT
friend's CAFTIVITT — ITS EFFECT /tJPOH
THE HEARERS — TALB OF nTT ADVENTURES
— PRAIRIE FLOWER DESCRIBED — ^AFFEC-
TIONATE CURIOSITT — LILIAN'S ENTHUSI-
ASIfl FOR EVA — ^VARIOUS MATTERS DIS-
CUSSED — A HAPFT NICTHT.

To describe my feelings and those of
Huntly, when we halted within view of
the dwellings containing those around the
very tendrils of whose hearts our own
were entwined— on whose happiness or
misery our own were depending — would
be impossible; and therefor^ I shall not
attempt it. The day's journey had been
very severe — for we had all ridden hard, in
order if possible to reach the village be-
fore nightfall. In this we had not suc-
ceeded; but knowing we were near, we
still pressed forward after night set in, and
by nine o'clock in the evening, had come
in sight of the glimmering lights, as shown
in the last chapter.

We now held a short consultation, which
resulted in Huntly, Teddy and myself re-
solving to go forward, while Prairie Fiow-
er and her companions should encamp
and remain where they wer>e through the
night. Our object in this was to see our
friends alone, and prepare them to receive
our fair benefactress, whom we intended
to introduce as an Indian maiden, and
then leave matters to take their own course.

Having at length arranged every thing
to our satisfaction, we rode forward, and
in less than half an hour drew rein near
the humble cottage of Mrs. Huntly.

" And is it here," said Charles, as he
gazed with a sigh upon the rude edifice:
" And is it here I again meet my dear mo-
ther and sister? Alas! Frank, there is a
change iAdeed in our fortune! and now I
feel it."

" Repine not," returned I; " but rather
thank God you are safe, and look forward
to better days!"

"I will not repine," he said. "But,

r

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

75

Frank, there is such an air of poverty
here, I coald not avoid giving vent to my
thoughts."

As we spoke we dismounted, and giving
our horses in charge of Teddy — with or-
ders to take good care of them, and seek
another place of i'est for himself — we ap-
proached the door with trembliog steps,
and with conflicting feelings of hope and
fear. What if something had happened,
and W6 should find a stranger in place of
those we sought! But no! no! we would
not harbor such a thought — would look to
clasp our friends to our beating hearts!

The house was tightly closed, but not
nninhabited, as we could see by the light
which here and there shone through a cre-
vice.

" Gx> forward!*' whispered Huntly; and
I advanced and rapped timidly on the rough
door With my knuckles.

To this there came no answer, and Ixe-
peated il, but harder and louder.

" Who is there]" said a soft voice from
within.

Gracious heavens! how its tones thrill-
ed me! I knew it! I would have known
it among a million! It was the voice
of my own beloved Lilian!

" A friend," answered I,, as with one
hand I grasped the arm of Charles, who
was now trembling with agitation.

<' Pardon me!" answered Lilian; << but
will you give me your name— as it is al-
ready somewhat late, and there is no one
within but mother and myself."

** And do you not know me, Lilian]"
'* That voice!" I heard her exclaim;
*< that voice!" and the next moment there
was an agitated rattling At the door, which
instantly swung open, and revealed the
idol of my thoughts standing before me,
pale and trembling.

" Lilian!" I exclaimed, *' thank God we
meet again!" and in an instant she was
folded in my embrace and weeping with
}oy.

'* O," she ejactthited, looking up affec-
tionately into my face: *' O, Francis, this
is more than I have prayed for — more than
I expected: I did not look for you this
season. But, ha!" she exclaimed, as the
shadow of her brother, who had stolen in

behind her unperceived, fell upon her vi-
sion — •* we are not alone— who have we
here!"

She turned suddenly round, and her eyes
met the tearful ones of Charles, as, with
outstretched arms, he stood ready to re-
ceive her, toa muchaffected to utter a syl-
able.

For a brief moment she remained speech- -
less and motionless,ji8 if fearing to believe
her senses; and then gasping "My bro-
ther!" she staggered forward and sank
fainting upon his breast.

At this moment Mrs. Huntly, who had
been on the point of retiring, but had been
deterred by the sound of voices, entered,
the room from au adjoining apartment. ,,

" Who have we here]" she said, as she
advanced toward us, looking from one to
the other inquiringly, but unable from the
position of tbo light to see our features.

*' Francis 1" she exclaimed joyfully, as I
took a step forward: '* Francis, my sonl
do I indeed see thee again!" and ere the
words were concluded, I. found myself
closed in a motherly embrace. *' This
is indeed, a hil|^y« surprise!" she added,
warmly.

** But there," returned I, pointing to
Charles, who, still straining Lilian to his
breast, was now gazing upon his mother
with th at singular expression of intense joy ,
which the imprisoned soul, struggling as it
were for release, and choking all utter-
ance, stamps upon every feature: ** There,"
said J, ''a more happy surprise awaits you;"
and springing forward, I took the half unr
conscious form of Lilian from the armn of
my friend.

For a moment mother and son stood face
to face, gazing upon each other, complete-
ly overpowered by their feelings.

*< Mother!" at length burst from the lips
of Charles.

" My son!" and staggering forward, they
fell upon each other's neck, and gave their
overcharged souls vent in tears and sighs.

For sometime no one spoke; then rais-
ing her tearful eyes to Heaven, and in a
voice of deep solemnity, Mcs. Huntly
ejaculated:

•< Almighty iGod! I thank thee for this ,
moment of unclouded happiness — ^for re- .

76

LENI-LEOTI:

.-/

storing the wanderer safe to the only pa-
rent he has on earth!"

" Ay, the only parent," added Charles,
with a fresh burst of emotion; '< the only
one, dear mother. My father — alas! my
father!"

He paused, overcome by his feelings.

But I Will not prolong the affecting
scene. Suffice, that for more than an
hour very little was said, except in the
way of thanks to the Supreme Ruler for
bringing us all safely together once more.
And well might we be thankful to that
watchful Providence, which had slumbered
not in our hours of grief and danger, and
had brought us all out, as it were, from
^e very "Valley of the Shadow of
Death."

The first transports of joy over, we
gradually grew calm; and having formed
a small circle before the cheerful fire:

*

" Now," said Mrs. Huntly, " let me hear
something of my friends in Boston."

« Lost !" rejoined I. " Ay , lost indeed—
for I believed him dead."

" O, speak, Francis!" exclaimed Mrs.
Huntly, greatly agitated, and looking firom
me to Charles, and from Charles to me:
" Speak, Francis, and tell us what you
mean!"

<< Charles," I returned, in a trembling
voice, " was taken prisoner by a band of
guerrillas; but I — I — ^believed him dead—
for no trace of him could be found."

" A prisoner! You, Charles^ my son, a
prisoner?" cried his mother; and again
throwing herself upon his neck, she burst
into tears; while Lilian, gliding up to his
side, took his hand in silence, and gazed
mournfully upon him with swimming eyes.

*' Is it so, Charles?' ' asked his mother.
<< Is it so? Have you indeed been in cap-
tivity?"

" I have, dear mother, I have!" he an-
swered, in a voice choked with emotion.
I Drawing back, Mrs. Huntly gazed upon

" Alas!" sighed I, my mind reverting at
once to my own parents, " I can give you
no news in that quarter."

" And have you not been home?" she
asked in surprise.

I shook my head.

** Then you met Charles on the way, and
he perhaps can tell me?" and she turned
to him inquiringly.

" Nay, mother," he answered sadly, "I
have not seen the land of my nativity since
t there parted from you."
.*< Why, what means this?" she asked,
turning to me.

" Pardon me," I said, in some embarrass-
ment, "if I once deceived you both! — but
I did it for the best."

" Deceived us!" exclaimed both Lilian
and her mother in a breath. " Pray ex-
plain yourself, Francis!" added the latter.

" You remember I told you, that when
I parted with Charles, he was going east-
ward?"

« Well! well!"

"But I did nota(dd,it Was only intended
aa the parting of a few minutes, and that
when I met yon on the mountains, I be-
lieved him lost to us all forever."

" Lost?" screamed Mrs; Huntly*

" Lost?" echoed Lilian.

him with a look of unutterable fondness
and affection, and then turning to me, said,
somewhat coldly:

"Francis, how could you deceive me!
I did not think this of you."

I was about to reply, when Lilian turn-
ed quickly round and confronted her mo-
ther.

" Mother," she said, " do not speak in
that manner. If Francis did not tell us
all, it was because he feared to wound our
feelings — ^to give us unnecessary pain. —
Was it not so?" she asked, appealing to
me with her soft blue eyes.

" It was!" I exclaimed, struggling to
command my feelings. " It was, dear
Lilian — God bless you for an angel — ^it
was!"

"I crave pardon!" said Mrs. Huntly, ta-
king my hand. " I did not intend to wound
your feelings, Francis, and sincerely be-
lieve you did all for the best. But the sud-
denness of the news — the shock — sur-
prised and alarmed me, and I did not heed
what I said. I now know it was all for
the best; for had I known Charles was
lost, I fear the result might have been
fatal. Thank God," she continued, turn-
ing again to h^r son: " Thank God, yon
are safe before me now! O, Charles, my

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

77

Boa,"8he added, covering her eyes with
her hands to conceal her emotion, '' you
must never, never leave me again!"

" Never, mother," he answered solemn-
ly, ** till we are parted by death."

** And this," siud Lilian, turning fondly
to me, " is why you became so agitated
whenever I mentioned my brother. I un-
derstand all now. And this, too, is the
cause of your abrupt departure, which has
ever appeared so singular to me, and over
which Eva and I have speculated many an
hour, without solving the problem."

" And did my departure indeed appear so
singular, sweet Lilianl" I inquired in sur-
prise. " Did I nut tell you I was going
to seek your brotherl"

'< Ay! but you forget you did not tell me
he was lost — and we, you know, supposed
him in Boston. There was nothing so re-
markable in your going to meet him, as in
the hurried manner which you departed,
without any previous notice, as if you had
heard bad tidings. It was this that put us
to conjecture."

" True, I did overlook that."

'' Well, well, dear Francis, hever mind;
you are here again; and now we must hear
the tale of your adventures, and how you
found Charles."

" Yes," rejoined Mrs. Huntly, « I am all
aaxiety to hear the story."

" Who shall tell itl" asked I.

** You, Frank," answered Charles. " You
can tell it better than I."

The tale I told: beginning with the loss
of my friend at Pueblo de los Angelos, and
its subsequent efiect upon me, up to the
time when I met with his mother ^nd sis-
ter near the South Pass of the Rocky
Mountains. I then narrated my last ad-
venture, and gave a brief description of
the scenes already laid before the reader,
and how I had, little by little, traced
Charles to the very spot of his captivity,
•nly to find that another had released him.
This led me to Prairie Flower, whom I de-
scribed as a beautiful being, and as good
as she was beautiful. I described our first
meeting with her and her tribe, and some-
thing of their manners and customs, and
recalled to mind how she had, at the risk
of her life, appeared to warn the emigrants,

on that memorable night before they cross-
ed the Rocky Mountains. I then revert-
ed to Charles, and how I had found him in
company with the tribe. In fact, I gave
an outline of all the principal incidents of
interest, carefully avoiding any allusion to
the attachment existing between my friend
and Prairie Flower, as also that we had
any suspicions as to who the latter might
be, or that she had accompanied us on our
last journey.

During the recital, both Mrs. Huntly
and Lilian listened eagerly, occasionally
interrupting me with some question or ex-
clamation, when the incidents detailed
were unusually exciting. In fact, when-
ever I described a scene of danger to my-
self, Lilian would press close to my side,
and gaze up into my face, pale and breath-
less, sometimes shuddering at the picture
called up in her mind, and seem to bans
upon my words as intensely as though
they were actually imparting life or death
to him she. loved. Nay, more than this: ^
On several occasions did she become so
lost in the thrilling tale, as to utter excla-
mations of horror; and then, remember-
ing where she was, she would clasp my
hand with a hearty pressure, and in a low
voice thank God for my deliverance and
present safety.

*' And where is &is beautiful Indian
maideni" she asked, when I had done. —
<<What a singular being! O, I should
love her so! for her goodness, and her
kindness to those so dear to me."

" Ay, Lilian, you would indeed love her,"
I answered; " for she is one of the swe.et-
est beings you ever knew."

" Always excepting Eva," she rejoined,
playfully.

" Nay, Lilian, I wiU except no one but
your own sweet self."

She blushed, and smiled, and added:

" You are too complimentary." *

" But what has become of this Prairie
Fl«werr^ inquired Mrs. Huntly. "You
did not tell us where you had left her."

" And what if I should say she is near
at hand!"

'< Near at handl" repeated Lilian.

** Explain, Francis!" added Mrs. Huntly-

** She crossed the mountains with us."

78

LENI-LEOTI:

" Indeed! and where is she nowl"

" Within sight of the lights of this great
city."

"Is it possihle! And why diJ you not
bring her here at oncel"

" Why, it was already late; and as she
has several companions with her, we
thought it better for the party to encamp
and remain till morning, while we went
forward and prepared you to receive them."

" O, I am so anxious to see her!" rejoin-
ed Lilian; " and so will be Eva, when she
hears of her. While she remains with us,
we will treat her as a sister."

" I believe you," returned I, pointedly,
and fixing my eye upon Huntly, who blush-
ed and turned his head aside, but made no
remark.

** O, what a surprise awaits Eva on the
morrow!" pursued Lilian. " She does not
dream you are here; i^nd yet she has been
praying for your return, witfi brother
Charles, every day since you left."

" I thank her, from my heart, for her in-
terest in our welfare. She is a noble
^rl."

"She is indeed!" rejoined Lilian, en-
thusiastic in praise of her friend; " and I
love her as a sister — which I hope she may
be ere long," she added, playfully* turning
to Huntly with a smile, who appeared not
a little embarrassed. " O, Charles," con-
tinued Lilian, pursuing her train of thought,
" if ever one being loved another without
seeing him, dear Eva loves you — for your
name is ever on her tongue."

" I am very grateful for it, certainly,"
replied Charles, evasively, feeling himself
pressed for an answer.

" And well you may be — for her equal
does not live!" persisted Lilian with spirit,
loth to quit the subject.

" Do not assert that!" returned I, with
a smile. " You forget that Eva had a sis-
ter."

" But who knows any thing of her sis-
ter, Prancisi"

" Ay, who knows!** answered I, reflect-
ing on what I suspected, and on what the
morrow might reveal. " But come, Lilian,
since Eva has so much place in your
thoughts, tell me how it has fared with you
since last we met."

*< O, as well as could be expected, and
you away," she answered, naivdy. " We
have walked, and rode, and played, and
sung, and read, and talked, and wondered
fifty times a day where you were, and
wb^ you would return, and if Charles
would come with you, and so on. To
sum up, the spring, summer and most of
the autumn have passed — but somehow
the time has been more tedious than I
could have wished. There is not the so-
ciety here to please us, and on the whole
we have not been very well contented. —
There has been quite an addition of set-
tlers here during the past season, and the
village has much improved since you saw
it. In fact, it begins to assume the aspect
of a civilized town; but still I feel I could
never be happy here."

" And would you like to return to the
easti"

«0, dearly!"

" You shall start in the spring, then," I
rejoined.

" O, that is joyful news ! And Eva shall
go alsoV*

" All that desire to accompany us, Lil-

ian.

»

" Eva will be so rejoiced at this. But
mother has invested what little means she
had in the purchase of land."

'* Well, that can be sold again; and it
will have lost nothing in value, since the
town has begun to flourish."

"And will you go, mother 1" asked Lili-
an, addressing the good lady, who, mean-
time, had been conversing with Charles in
an under tone.

" As my children desire," answered Mrs.
Huntly. " I shall leave all to you, my
children. But, come! Charles is about to
tell us of his captivity; and although it is
late, I am anxious to hear his tale."

Thus ended my conversation for the time
with Lilian; and forming a half circle
around her brother, we all attentively lis-
tened to his thrilling narrative. By the
time he had concluded, the night was far
advanced; and though I had a thousand
things to say to Lilian, I deferred them all
to another opportunity, and retired to rest
with a lighter heart than I had known for
many a long year.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

79

CHAPTER XVI.

MOBHING SALUTATIONS— MT FRIEND GLOOMY
— OLD FRIENDS — CORDIAL GREETINGS —
- MEETING OF CHARLES AND EVA — EMBAR-
RASSMENT OF BOTH — REASSURANCE —
PRAIRIE FLOWER DISCUSSED — NATURAL
SURMISES— SLIGHT JEALOUSY — GOOD TID-
INGS. '

When I awoke on the following morn-
ing, the bright sun was already streaming
through the half closed shutter of my
room. Huntly was up and <}reesed, and
standing by my bed.

" ComeP' he said, as I partially aroused

myself to look around: " Come, Frank,

the sun is up before you, and breakfast is

waitingP
At first I felt a little bewildered, as a

person sometimes will in a strange place.
Bat it was only momentary; and remember-
ing where I was, I sprang to the floor, hur-
ried my mde toilet, and accompanied my
friend to the larger apartment, where I
found the table smoking with hot viands,
and Lilian and her mother ready to wel-
come me with sw<eet smiles and cordial
«alatations.

" And how did you rest?^' inquired Mrs.
Huntly.

"Well!" I answered. " I slept sound-
ly, I assure you, or I should have made ray
appearance ere this."

*' I am glad to hear it. my son, for you
needed rest. Lilian and I were not so for-
tunate; for the unusual events of last
sight drove all slumber from our eyelids,
and we could do nothing but talk of ^<m
and Charles."

" I fear our presence, then,'* said I, smi-
ling, " has robbed you of a sweet night's
rcBtl"

^ " Do not be alarmed," returned Lilian,
archly. " Your presence has been more
l>eneficial than sleep, I assure you-^and
never did I behold daylight with more
joy.**

" That yon might escape from your re-
jfiection8,eh! Lilian I"

** That I might see you again," she re-
joined, with one of her sweetest smiles.

" A kiss for that!" cried I gaily.

And I took iL

The morning meal passed off cheerfully
with all save Charles, who appeared some-
what gloomy, at times abstracted, and rare-
ly spoke.

" What is the matter, my friend!" in-
quired I. *' One would look to see you
cheerful, if not gay; and yet you are silent
and thoughtful."

" I feel a litl le depressed in spirits," be
answered. " But never mind me. I shall
be myself in time. At present I am so-
berly inclined."

" Fatigue, perhaps!" suggested hia mo^
ther.

*' My father!" he answered, solemnly.

Instantly a dead silence prevailed, and
the tears sprang to the eyes of both Mrs.
Huntly and Liliaa.

*^ But, come." added Charles, lifter a
pause, " do not let me make you sad, my
friends! You mourned my father bitterly,
long ere I heard of his death. You must
remember my cause for grief is recent."

"Alas!" sighed Mrs. Huntly, " we all
mourn him still, and ev^r must."

Another gloomy silence succeeded.

<* I saw Teddy this morning," at length
pursued Charles, anxious to divert our
thoughts from the painful channel into
which his remarks had drawn them, " and
I dispatched him to Prairie Flower, re-
questing the presence of herself and
friends. She and they will soon be here."*

"And I," added, Lilian, "have seen
Eva. It would have done you good to have
witnessed her surprise and delight, on hear-
ing the joyful tidings I imparted. I ex-
pect her here every moment. Ha! she is
here now!" she added, rising; " I knotv
her step;" and hastening to the door, she
conducted the object of her remarks and
Madame Mortimer into the apartment.
' I hurriedly arose and advanced to meet
them.

" O, I am«o rejoiced to see you, Fran-
cis!" cried Eva, springing forward and ex-
tending both hands, which I shook warm-
ly. ^* This is a joyful surprise indeedl"

" And I," said Madame Mortimer, com-
ing up, ** I, too, believe me, am most hap-
py to welcome you back, as it were, to the
land of the living! We have felt your
loss severely — most severely, sir;" and th#

80

LENI-LEOTI:

pressure of her hands, as she said this,
convinced me her words were not idly
said.

^ I feel myself most fortaaate and hap-
py in having such friends,** I replied, em-
phasising the last word; "and, I assm'e
you, I am as r#)oiced to meet them as they
can be to see me. But, come! let me pre-
sent you to my long lost friend;" and turn-
ing to Huntly, who had risen from his seat,
I introduced both mother and daughter to-
gether.

Huntly bowed low to each, and, with
unusual embarrassment for him, said it
gave him extreme pleasure to meet with
those whom he had seen years before, in
a moment of peril, and of whom he had
since heard so much from me.

I particularly noted the countenance of
Eva, who now beheld Charles Huntly for
the first time. As I presented her, she
turned pale, then crimsoned to the eyes,
then took a faltering step forward, as if to
meet *him, but finally paused and let her
eyes sink to the floor, seemingly greatly
embarrassed. Not so with Madame Mor-
timer. With a quick step she instantly
advanced toward Charles, who met her
half way, seized his proffered hand, and
frankly said, in a voice tremulous with
emotion:

" God bless you, Charles Huntly! I am
most happy to behold you. You, sir, a
stranger, saved the life of my daughter*
at the risk of your own. Vou have bad a
fond mother's prayers for your safety and
happiness ever since; but until now, I have
never had an opportunity of expressing to
you my most lasting obligations;" and she
turned away her face to conceal the spring-
ing tears.

" You owe me no obligations," returned
my frierid, frankly. "If there were any
due, they have long since been cancelled
in your kindness to those I love. I did
but my duty; and if the adventure was
perilous at the time, it certainly brought
its own reward afterwards, in a satisfied
conscience."

Here he rested his eye upon Eva, with
an expression as of uncertainty whether
to advance to her side or remain where he
was. At the same time Eva lo(^ed up,

their eyes met, and with a simultaneous
movement, each approached and took the
"other by the hand.

" O, sir!" began Eva, in a timid voice,
and then paused, while her snowy hahd
trembled with agitation. Then making
a struggle to appear calm, she added: " I
—I — am very — ^very grateful;" and the
last word died away in an almost inaudible
murmur.

What a perplexing predicament for my
friend! Before him stood the first being
he had ever loved, beyond the love filial
and fraternal. She stood before him, face
to face, her hand trembling in his, and her
voice sounding the sweet words of a grate-
ful heart in his ear. That voice and those
words which once would have made him
frantic with rapture. Which once would
have sent the hot blood to his heart, only
that it might again leap in burning streama
through his swollen veins. Which once,
in short, would have made him the hap-
piest of mortals. How was it now? Time
and circumstances work great changes in
the human heart, and my friend was chang-
ed — at least changed in that impassioned
sentiment he had once felt for the object
before him. He was not cold and indif-
ferent-^not insensible to her lovely charms
and noble virtues. No! he was affected —
deeply affected — ^affected to tears, by her
look and language. He loved her still —
but with a modified love. The love of a
brother for a sister. The love which is
founded on esteem, for the high and noble
qualities possessed by another, without re-
gard to mere personalities. There was no
ardency — no passion. No! all this was
gone — transferred to another. Prairie
Flower alone held the heart of Charles
Huntly.

" Miss Mortimer," replied my friend —
" or rather let me call you Eva — I am most
happy to meet you; and feel it is I, rather
than you„ who ought to be grateful, for
having been permitted to do an act which
has already repaid me ten- fold. I am one
who hold that every virtuous deed bears
with it its own reward. Pray, be seated,
and we will talk farther!"

" Ay," chimed in Madame Mortimer,
" and you shall giye tis, Charles, some of

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

81

your own adventures. Since you came to
the Par West, you have, if I am rightly
informed, experienced much of the ro-
mantic."

<' I have seen, a little of romance, I be-
lieve," replied Huntly, as, pointing his
friends to seats, he took another between
them.

"Lilian," pursued Madame Mortimer,
'' has already told me something, and I am
anxious to hear more. She says you are
indebted to a beautiM Indian maiden for
both life and liberty — certainly a heavy ob-
ligution on your part."

" I feel it such," rejoined Huntly , chang-
ing color.

" And who is this Indian girll and to
what tribe does she belong? The daugh-
ter of some great chief, I suppose]— for in
all novels, you know, the heroine must be
some great personage, either acknowledg-
ed or incog."

"But you forget, madam," returned
Huntly,, smiling, " that the heroine in this
case, as you are pleased to term Prairie
Flower, is an individual in real life; where-
as in novels, the heroine alone exists in
the imagination of the author, and can be
whatever he may see proper to make her.
Therefore you should not be surprised,
should she turn out some humble individual.

" Well," answered Madame Mortimer,
" all romance is much alike, whether im-
aginary or real; for the novelist, if true to
liis calling, must draw his scenes from real
life; and hence I may be permitted to
suppose the heroine, in this case, a person
of some consequence."

" And so she may be, for what we know
to the contrary," said I, joining in.

" And do you not know who she is,
theni" asked Madame Mortimer.

" ^Ve know nothing positive."

" Is she not the daughter of a chief?"

« No."

<i Is she beautiful?" asked Eva, giving
me a peculiar look.

" Very beautiful," replied I, glancing at
my friend, who colored and seemed a little
confused.

Both Eva and her mother caught the
expression of Huntly's countenance, and
the latter said;

" Then perhaps Charles has lost his heart
with her?"

Eva turned to him quickly, with a search-
ing glance, and immediately added:

" I believe he has — for he changes color
at the mere mention of her name;" and
her own features, as she spoke, grew a
shade paler.

" One has his heart that is nearer at
hand," observed Lilian, who, with her
mother, had been standing a silent specta-
tor of what had passed.

"I pray you drop this jesting!" said
Huntly, with an effort to appear careless
and unconcerned.

" Nay, but I must know more of this
singular personage," pursued Madame Mor-
timer;" for I feel deeply interested in her.
A girl that could and would do what she
has done, can be no ordinary being."

« So think I," added Mrs. Huntly.

** And so you will find her," I rejoined.

" I am dying to see her," said Lilian.

" She must have taken great interest in
the fate of Charles, to seek him out in cap-
tivity," observed Madame Mortimer. " Is
it not so, Francis?"

" Her motto of life is to do all the good
she can," I answered, rather evasively.
" She would take an interest in any one
who chanced to be in trouble."

" God bless her, then, for a true heartt"
was the response.

" But how came she to think of visiting
Oregon?" asked Eva.

" We persuaded her to accompany us
home," I replied. " As she once saved
both our lives, and afterwards ransomed
Charles froni slavery, not forgetting that
night which you all remember, when she
gave us timely warning of danger, where-
by much boodshed was averted, I thought
you would like to see and thank her."

« And you were right," said Lilian. "O,
I Eva, we will love her as a sister, will we
not?"

« Certainly," answered Eva, rather ab-
stractedly, and evidently not so well pleas-
ed with the idea of her being present as
the other. ** Certainly, we will love her
as a sister."

Could a faint, a very faint spark of jeal-
ousy have begun to blaze in her breast? I

83

LENILEOTI:

observed her closely and drew my own i
conclusions. Let the reader draw his.

Meantime Huntly had remained seated,
apparently indifferent to every thing said.
Was he indifferent? Again let the read-
er, who knows something of the state of
his heart, be his own judge. We who are
in the secret can think what we please.
And why did Eva suddenly become so
thoughtful and abstracted? Was she
thinking of Prairie Flower? and did she
fear a rival in an Indian maiden? — for I had
never intimated she was other than an In-
dian. Again let the reader decide. My
design, as previously stated, was to bring
all parties together, and leave matters to
take their own course; and I now felt
anxious for all the actors to be on the
stage, that I might witness the denoue-
ment.

For some time the conversatioii went
on, gradually changing from Prairie Flow-
er to my friend, who was called upon to
narrate some of his adventures.

Anxious to entertain those present, and
divert his thoughts from other subjects, he
began the recital of a thrilling scene, in
which he was an inactive, though not un-
concerned spectator, and had already reach-
ed the most exciting part, holding his lis-
teners breathless with interest, when Ted-
dy entered the apartment in haste, ex-
claiming:

"Your honor—'* Then pausing as he saw
who were present, and making a low bow
— ^** Beg pardon, ladies! My most obedi-
ent respicts to all o' yees, by token Tve
saan yees afore."

" Well, well, Teddy — have they come?"
inquired I, impatiently. ~

" Troth, and they has, your honor! and
that's jist what Ps a-going to say, whin
the likes o' so many beauthiful females put
me out a bit "

" And where are they now, Teddy?"

" Jwt round the corner, as ye may«ay."

" Remain here, and I will soon set Prai-
rie Flower before you," said I, addressing
the others, who were now all excitement
to behold ray fair friend.

And I hurried from the cot, followed by
Teddy.

CHAPTER XVII*

PRATRIE FLOWER — HER AFFEARAKCE — ^EMO-
TIONS — INTRODUCTION — THE SURPRISE —
THE LIKENESS — ^A THRILLING SCENE — A
mother's FEELINOS^^WILD INTERROGA-
TIONS — STARTLING DENOUEMENT.

I found Prairie Flower seated upon her
little pony, in company with her Indian
friends^pale and agitated, but looking, if
any thing, more beautiful than ever. She
wore a plain neat dress, without ornament,
which fitted her person well, and displayed
her airy, symmetrical figure to the best ad-
vantage. Her dark glossy hair was braid-
ed and arranged, if not a la mode, at least
in most exquisite taste; and altogether her
appearance was such as could not offend
the searching gaze of the most fastidious
critic. All trace of the Indian was gone;
and gazing upon her sweet, modest coun-
tenance, one could hardly realize her life,
for the most part, had been spent in the
wilderness, among the red children of the
forest.

" And how fares my fair friend this
morning?" I said, with a smile, as I came
up.

" But indifferently well," she answered,
dismounting.

" I fear you did not rest well last night?"

" I did not rest at all," she replied. "How
could I rest, sir, with such momentous
thoughts as kept me company? O, sir,"
she added, vehemently, placing her hand
upon her heart; " here, here were strange
feelings, strange emotions, strange yearn-
ings — but all powerful as strange — and
they kept my senses from slumber. Every
nerve was then strained, and 1 felt strong.
But now — I am weak — vpry weak;" and as
she spoke, she rested her hand on the neck
of her little pony for support.

" Come!" I said, advancing to her side,
''take my arm, and I will conduct you hence.
It is intense excitement which so unnerves
you; but you must not give way to it. It
is necessary, for the present, that you be
calm, and do not lose your wonted presence
of mind."

" .\nd whither would you conduct me?*'
she timidly inquired.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

83

<' Within this humble cottage."

•* And — and— are ihey there — of— of
whom you spokeV she fairly gasped.

'^ Ay! they await your presence to thank
you for all your kindness.'*

" And do — do — they know?^* she said,
emphaaioing , the last word, clasping my
hand, and fixing her dark eyes, with a sin-
gular expression, upon mine.

"They knowmothing, Prairie Flower,
but that you are the author of many noble
deeds, for which they are your debtors, and
for which they are anxious to return you
heartfelt thanks. My friend and I thought
it best to bring you together, without even
hinting our surmises.''

" It was a happy thought in you," she
replied, with some reassurance;" I am glad.
you did so; I am glad they know nothing;
and I will try to be calm and appear indif-
ferent. Bift, sir, believe me ! this is a great
trial* I have been used to danger, all my
life. I — taough you may think it strange,
for I have never told it you before — have
even stood upon the field of carnage, where
the fierce battle raged, and the deadly mis-
siles were whirling past me, fairly hissing
in my ear, and there have striven to succor
the wounded. I have had my life in dan-
ger many times, when I believed every mo-
ment would be my last. I have, for my
years, seen much hardship and peril — but
never, sir, a moment like the present —
never a time when I felt ray soul shrink
within me, and refuse to do my bidding as
now — never a time, when I had less self-
command and felt I needed it more. I am
about to enter the presence of those whose
blood, perchance, runs in my veins; and
the doubts— the uncertainty — the hopes
and fears, which are based upon this bare
possibility, are mighty in their strength.
O, sir! si^ch feelings — ^such wild, strange
feeUngs as rush over me at the thought,
are beyond the utterance of mortal tongue
—words could not express them. But I
will say no more. I keep them waiting.
I will nerve myself. I am ready."

"But perhaps your friends here had
better wait till this first interview is

over.

»>

•* True," she said, " they must not wit-
ness it;" and turning, she addressed a few

words to them, and then signified that she
y/M ready.

At this moment my eye fell upon sever-
al of the villagers, who were sauntering to-
wards us, attracted, some of them perhaps
by curiosity, and others by the news of my
arvival. As I did not care to see any at
present, I said a word to Prairie Flower,
and we hastened our steps to the thresh-
hold of the cottage.

" Courage!" I whispered, and led her in
with a faltering step.

All eyes were instantly fastened upon
her; and the involuntary exclamation from
more than one was, "How beautiful!"
Prairie Flower, pale and trembling,
could not return their gaze, but sunk her
own to the ground.

" My friends," I said, " I herewith pre-
sent you our fair benefactress, to whom
two of us at least, if noj all present, are
indebted for our lives. This is the Prairie
Flower of whom I spoke; and taking slight
liberty with her name, I may be permitted
to term her the Flower of the Wilder-

j>

ness.

As I spoke, each of the ladies rose and
advanced to meet her — ^but Lilian was the
first to gain her side. With a quick step
she came forward, and taking the inactive
hands of Prairie Flower in her own, said
in a bland, frank, affectionate tone:

" Welcome, sweet maiden, to the home
of those who already love you for your
many virtues. I have—"

At this moment Prairie Flower raised
her eyes to those of the speaker, whose
countenance suddenly changed to a look
of bewildered surprise, and taking a step
backward, she clasped her hands and ejac-
ulated:

"Good heavens! how remarkable!"

" The charm works," Whispered I to my
friend, who had silently joined me.

, He pressed my hand nervously, but said
nothing.

" Yes, welcome to our humble abode,
Prairie Flower!" said Mrs, Huntly, in a
kindly tone, who, her gaze rivited upon
the fair maiden, bad not as yet noticed the
surprise and agitation of her daughter.
"Eh! what! how!" she added the next
moment, as the dark eyes of Prairie Flow-

84

LENI-LEOTI:

er in turn rested'upon hers; and she glanc-
ed quickly toward Eva, Madame Mortimer
and Lilian, and then back again upon Prai-
rie Flower, as if uncertain what to think
or how to act.

" I thank you— for — for— your kind-
ness 1" faltered Prairie Flower, again drop-
ping her eyes to the ground, and evidently
scarcely able to support herself from sink-
ing.

At the moment Mrs. Huntly spoke, Eva
had extended her hand within a step of
Prairie Flower, and her lips were just part-
ed to utter a welcome, when the same look
which had surprised the former, arrested
her motions and held her spell-bound, as
if suddenly transformed to a statue of mar-
ble. But it was Madame Mortimer which
now fixed my whole attention. She had
come up a little behind the others, with an
expression of patronizing, benevolent cu-
riosity on her fine, matronly features. The
first glance at Prairie Flower had changed
the idle look of curiosity, to one of sur-
prise and interest at her maidop beauty,
and the absence of that distinguishing
mark of the Indian which she had expect-
ed to find. The next moment she evident-
ly became struck with her strong resem-
blance to Eva, which had so surprised
each of the others; and a sudden vague,
wild thought — a suspicion— a something
undefinable — ^rushed over her half bewil-
dered brain; and her features grew ashy
pale, her bosom heaved, and her very
lips turned white with internal emo-
tions. But it was when Prairie Flow-
er spoke, you should have seen her. There
was something in that voice, that seemed
to thrill every nerve, and then take away
all power of motion — suspend every ani-
mal function. At the first sound, she lean-
ed a little forward, one hand, unconsciously
as it were, stretched toward the speaker,
and the other instinctively clasping her
forehead; 'while the blood rushing upward
crimsoned her features, and then retreat-
ing to her heart, left them paler than ever.
Her lips parted, her eyes seemed starting
from their sockets, her heaving breast
ceased its throbbing, and she stood trans-
fixed to the ground, motionless and mute,
apparently without life, or only that life

of surprised and bewildered inaction,
which the master sculptor of the passions
sometimes transfuses into the otherwise
inanimate object of his creation. It was a
strange and impressive picture, and one
that would have made the fortune and fame
of any artist who could have accurately
transferred it to canvas. A momentary
silence prevailed — a deathly silence— that
seemingly had in it the awful calm pre-
ceding the frightful tempest. For a brief
space no one moved— no one spoke— and,
I may add, no one breathed; for the inters
nal excitement had suspended respiration.
There they stood, as I have described them,
a wonderful group— sweet Prairie Flower,
as the central figure and object of inter-
est, the cynosure of all eyes, and, if I may
be permitted the expression, the very soul
of all thought. Just behind Prairie Flow-
er stood Huntly, my hand clasped in his
and sufifering from its pressure.

Madame Mortimer was the first to move
— the first to break the silence. Sudden-
ly taking a step forward between Mrs.
Huntly and Eva, and clasping her hands
before her, her eyes still riveted upon Prai-
rie Flower, she exclaimed in a hoarse whis-
per, that had something sepulchral in its
sound:

" Merciful God! who are you? SpeakI
speak! In Heaven's name, who are you?"

Prairie Flower looked up wildly, clasp-
ed her hands, fixed her eyes upon the
other, and trembled violently, but said no-
thing.

^ Who are you?" cried Madame Morti-
mer again. " For God*s sake, speak! and
break this terrible spell of painful, be-
wildering uncertainty! Speak! I charge
you, speak!"

But the lips of Prairie Flower gave no
answer.

" Speak you!" continued Madame Mor-
timer, wildly, appealing to me: " Speak
any! speak all! but speak somebody! and
tell me I am not in a dream— a dream from
which it would be terrible to wake and
know it but a dream."

" You do not dream," said I; ^ and, I
have every reason to believe, are stand-
ing in the presence* of "

** Who?" she screamed, interrupting me.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

85

" Your Umg lost daughierP*

" Ah!'» she shrieked: " God of mercy! I
thought bo!" and ■taggering Iwward, she
threw out her arms, fell heayilj upon the
breast of Prairie Flower, aad swooned ia
her embrace.

CHAPTER XVni.

CONFtJSION^-MADAMX MOBTIHEB SS8T0EBD
— BEGOKD INTBRYIEW OF MOTHER AND
DAirOH3EB-^THB GRATEFUL PRATBR —
PEARS OF PRAIRIE FLOWER — DOXnrrS RE-
MOYED — FLIGHT G0RVER8ATI0E — A STROLL
—OLD ACQUAIHTANCES— OREeK»r CITT—
LOTE'S MISGiyiHOB— RET17RB fO THE COT-
TAGE.

To describe minutely what occurred du-
ring the first half hour after this singular
meeting between mother and daughter, is
wholly beyond my power — ^for I was too
much excited myself to note any thing
distinctly. For a time all was uproar and
eonfoflion — persons running to and firo,
calling for this thing and that, and utter-
ing exclamations of terror, surprise and
bewilderment.

Meantime Madame Mortimer was borne
in an unconscious state to an adjoining
apartment, where such restoratives as could
be had were speedily applied, for a long
time without success; while Prairie Flow-
er, more dead than alive, was conducted to
• seat, where Eva, the first alarm for her
mother over, flew to embrace her, to twine
her arms around her neck, call her ** Dear,
dear sister!" and weep and laugh alternate-
ly as one insane. lilian and Mrs. Hunt-
ly seemed completely bewildered; and
were now with Madame Mortimer, and
anon with Prairie Flower, aiding the re-
covery of the one, wondering over the
other, and continually uttering, ''How
strange! how strange!" Charles^ pale as
a corpse, had sunk upon a seat, and with
his face buried in his hands, sat in silence;
while I, after running up and down the
room several times, found myself, much to
my surprise, alone in the center of the
i^artment and dancing for very joy.

At last every thing began to assume a
more tranquil and sane appearance. Prai-
rie Flower found vent to her feelings in a
flood of tears upon the breast of Eva, who,
as she put in now and then a soothing
word, begging the other to be calm, min-
gled her own with her sister's; while Lili-
an and her mother wept in sympathy of
joy, and my own eyes, by the spontaneous
action of an overflowing soul, would, in
spite of myself, occasionally grow dim. —
Madame Mortimer, loo, gradually regained
her senses, and looking hurriedly about
her, anxiously inquired for her long lost
daughter. Prairie Flower was at once
conducted to her side, whither we all fol-
lowed to witness the interview.

For something like a minute, Madame
M(»timer gazed upon her daughter without
speaking, during which her features display-
ed all the varying expressions of a motiier'g
tender, yearning love for a long lost child.

<< 'Tis she!" at length escaped her lips,
in that deep tone by which the very soul
gives utterance: '< 'Tis she! the long-lost
— the sadly-wept — ^the deeply-mourned. —
Yes, 'tis she — there is no mistaking those
features. The lost is found — ^the dead re-
stored to life." Then pausing, clasping
her hands and looking upward, she added:
" God! all merciful, all wise, and all just —
for this I thank thee, from the inner depths
of a grateful heart! This day's happiness,
O God! hath cancelled long years of suf-
fering and sorrow; and henceforth the
study of my life shall be to glorify thy
name."

During this brief, solemn, but heart-felt
ofifering of gratitude to the Great Author
of the universe, Prairie Flower gradually
sank upon her knees beside the bed where-
on the speaker was lying, and covering her
face with her hands, appeared lost in si-
lent devotion. This over, she arose, and
gazing upon Madame Mortimer a moment,
with a look of unutterable affection, utter-
ed the single word " Motherf" threw her*
self upon the breast of the hitter, was
strained to her heart, and the tears of both
mingled.

it was a touching seene, and one that
needs no comment from me.

** And now, my sweei. ehildi" said Ma*

86

LENI-LEOTI:

dame Mortimer, pressing her lips warmly
to the other*s, " my long lost Evaline Mor-
timer — for by that name, which you bore
in infancy, you must henceforth be known
-*-tell me something of yourself, and how
you came to be found among the Indians!''

Prairie Flower — or Evaline, as I will
hereafter term her — started, turned pale
and sighed heavily, but did not reply. At
once I comprehended her thoughts and
hastened to relieve her; for I saw in her
look a secret dread, lest the unrevealed se-
cret in her possession might even now dash
the cup of joy from her lips, by proving
her the child of another.

•* She knows but little of her own his-
tory," I began, and then went on to re-
count our first suspicions as to who she
might be, and what followed, up to her
finding the hidden box, which probably
contained a statement of the facts, but
which she, for reasons explained, had not
yet examined.

"Alas!" sighed Evaline, "and that is
what troubles me ,now. I fear there may
have been some mistake; and if, oh God!

there be "

" Give yourself no uneasiness, my
child!" interrupted Madame Mortimer;
" for you are my child, I feel and know;
and for my own satisfaction, would never
■eek other proof than what I have — your
likeness to Eva, and a mother's yearnings.
But if you have any doubts, examine your
left arm, and you there will find a scar, in
the form of a quarter moon, which was
impressed upon Evaline Mortimer in in-
fancy." -

Evaline started, and hjirriedly bared her
arm with a trembling hand. We all press-
ed forward to examine it. There, sure
enough! just below the elbow, the identi-
cal scar could be traced — dim, it is true,
but still the scar of the quarter moon.

Evaline gazed upon it a moment, faint
and pale with joyful emotions, and then
turning her soft, dark eyes above, with the
sublime look of a saint, and clasping her
hands, said solemnly:

"God! I thank thee!"

" My sister — my sweet, long lost sisterl"
•fiid Eva affectionately, gently twining her
armt arQund the neck of the other and

gazing upward also—" I, too, thank God
for this*"

Evaline tnrned, clasped the other in her
arms, ead falling upon each other's neck,
the beautiful twin sisters wept in each
other's embrace.

" What a singular meeting is this!" ob-
served Mrs. Hantly to Madame Mortimer,
who now completely recovered arose from
the bed. "And how remarkable, that
both you and I should have a long lost
child restored to us at the same time!"

" Ay," answered the other, " God eome-
times works in wonders^ and this is one.
But not the least remarkable of all is the
fact, that some years since your son saved
the lif^ of my daughter, and subsequently
my daughter saved the life of your son
— though each at the time wholly nn-
known to the other, with no apparent con-
nection between the two strikinj? events.
The good we do returns to us, as the evil
of our life oft^n falls heavily upon cor
heads. P^have experienced both;" and she
sighed heavily. "But come, my daiigh-
ter," she added, turning to Evaline, " you
have friends with you whom we have long
kept waiting. We must now entertain
them, or they will think themselves slight-
ed, and with good reason. When every
thinfjj is properly arranged and settled, we
will have those secret documents produced
and hear your tale."

As she spoke, she led the way to the
larger apartment.

" Charley," I t^^hispered, " I fear we have
forgotten to congratulate Prairie Flower
on the happy termination of this interview
and change of name!"

He pressed my hand and answered:

" You must be spokesman, then — for at
present I am unable to express my feel-
ings."

" Be it so — but you must accompaay
me;" and advancing to Prairie Flower, I
took her hand and said:

"Igive you joy, Evaline Mortimer! —
and so does my friend here, though at pre-
sent too bashful to say it."

Both Huntly and Evaline blushed and
became embarrassed. But quickly recov-
ering herself, thes latter returned:

" I thank you— rthaok yon botli-*fioni

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

87

my heart. But for you, this might never
hftve been;" and her eyes instantly filled
with grateful tears.

"But for you, dear Evalinc,*' rejoined I,
"loe might never have been here. The
obligation is on our side^-we are the
debtors."

" Prairie Flower," began Huntly, taking
the disengaged hand and making an effort
to command himself — " Or rather, I should

say, E valine — I — I Well, you under^

stand! Imagine all I wodld say — for just
now I can say nothing."

" Bravo, Charley!", said I, laughing and
giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
*^BrJaTO, my dear fellow! Spoken like
yourself!"

" Hash!" he returned, with a gesture of
displeasure; " do not jest with me now,
Frank!"

Meantime I noticed that Eva and Lilian
watched the features of both Evaline and
Charles closely, and then whispered to each
other, and smiled, and again looked earn-
estly at each.

The secret is out, thought I.
At this moment Madame Mortimer, ob-
serving us together, approached and ad-
dressed my friend with a bland smile:

" Said I not, Charles, that the heroine
of this life-romance must necessarily be a
personage of consequence?"

" And I am rejoiced your words are veri-
fied," was the reply.

"Thank you! and thank God, I have
found them verified in a way I little ex-
pected! But all heroines, you know, must
fall in love!" she added, laughing. " How
is it in the present case, eh?"

"It turns out on the most approved
plan," I answered pointedly, glancing at
both Charles and Evaline, who, judging
from their looks, wished themselves for
the moment any where but where they
stood.

" I am rejoiced to hear it," rejoined the
good dame.

" And how is it withyou^Eval" I asked,
playfully.

" Why, I suppose I must resign all pre-,
tensions," she replied, in her wonted light
tone. " Of course I was anxious to make

But I see there i% no chance for me," she
pursued, glancing slyly at my friend; " and
so I will e'en- make a virtue of necessity,
pretend I don*t care any thing about
it, and, heigh-ho! look some where else,
with the old motto, *Better luck next time.'
Ay," she added, springing to the blushing
Evaline, and imprinting a kiss on her sweet
lips, " ] am too happy in finding a sister,
to mourn long for a lover — more especially
if a certain somebody (again glancing at
Charles,) has any design of becoming a
relation."

" Well said!" I rejoined. "And now,
Charley — "

" Hist!" he exclaimed, interrupting and
dragging me away, « Come," he added,
" let us take a strall;" and arm-in-arm we
quitted the cottage.

Considerable of a crowd had already
collected around our Indian friends, and
were listening to a story from Teddy, who,
as he privately expressed himself to me,
" Was in all the glory of making the
spalpeens belave himself and us the he-
roes of a hundred mighthy fights, and
bathels, and scrimmages, and hair-length
escapes, and thim things."

Among the number present, I recognis-
ed several of my old acquaintance's, who
appeared much delighted to see me, and to
whom I introduced my long lost friend.
After the usual commonplace observations
were over, I turned to Teddy, and gave
him instructions to conduct the Indians
into the cottage forthwith, and then see to
having their horses well taken care of.
This done, Huntly and I sauntered down
through the village, to note the improve-
ments, and talk over the important events
of the last few hours.

As Lilian remarked I would, I found the
village of Oregon City greatly altered for
the better, and that it had already begun
to assume the appearance of a thriving
settlement. During the past season there
had been a large influx of population from
the east, the effects of which were every
where visible in new dwellings and work-
shops. Some three br four merchants
had come on with goods, opened stores,
and were now doing a thriving business,

a conquest — aswh^t young lady is not? in disposing o£ their commodities at the >

88

LENI-LEOTI:

mo»t extravagant pricea. A grist-mill
and saw-mill had also been erected on the
Williamette, and were now in active ope-
ration — the former grinding out the staff
of life, and the latter supplying such of the
settlers as desired habitations superior to
log cabins, with the necessary materials
for more finished building. Here imd
there were the workshops of the carpen-
ter, blacksmith, saddler, shoemaker and
tailor — and, in short, every thing neces-
sary apparently to a business place.

Strolling down to the Williamette, we
halted upon a bhiff overlooking the roman-
tic stream, .and, as chance wq(ild have it,
upon the very spot where I had offered my
hand to Lilian.

« Here, Charley," said I, " is ground
which to me* is sacred. Can you not
guess from what cause!*'

He only answered by pressing my arm
and heaving a deep sigh.

« Come," added I, smiling, •* a wager I
can guess your thoughts!'*

« Well, say on."

« You are thinking of Evaline."

He changed color and sighed:

" Weill"

« And now you begin to have doubts
that all may not terminate as you desire!^'

« You are good at guessing," he rejoin-
ed, gazing solemnly down upon the current
below.

"Courage, man!" rejoined I. "Never
despair on the point of victory!"

" Ah!" he sighed, " if I could be assured
of that."

" Assured, Charley! What more as-
surance would you have? She loves you,
I will vouch for that; and now that the
mystery hanging over her early life is
cleared up, you have noUilng to do but be
yourself and ask her hand."

" Do you think sol" he cried, suddenly
confronting me with an eager look. " Do
you think so, Frankl"

" Do I think soV* I repeated. " Why,
man, where is your wonted assurance? Do
I think so? No! I do not think— I know!"

" But I — I — some how — I have my mis-
givings."

" Pshaw! my friend-clove's misgivings
pnlj. If you had not these, I should put

it down as a solemn fact that you did no^
love. She has her misgivings, too — but
they spring from the same source as yours,
and amount to exactly the same thing —
that is, nothing. Why, how you have
changed! You are as timid as a schoolboy
at his first public declamation, and tr^n-
ble more in the presence of one beautiful
being, than you did in the clutches of a
fierce banditti. Throw aside this foolish
bashfulness, and act like a sensible fellow.
There is nothing so very alarming in tell-
ing a young maiden you love and adore
her, when you once set yourself about it.
I have tried it, and speak from experience.
Once, I remember, yon talked the matter
of matrimony over as deliberately as if
making a bargain and sale— purchasing or
transfering fHroperty."

" Ay," he answered, musingly, " but it
was merely talk then — now it is quite a
different thing. If— -if— she should re-
fuse "

"Nonsense!" interrupted I, laughing;
and then added, imitating him: If — ^if —
you should refuse, why "

" Cease!" he exclaimed, almost angrrily.
" Why will you be ever jesting. Prank?"

" That I may bring you to sober earn-
est, Charley."

In like conversation we whiled away an
hour or two, and then returned to the cot-
tage-^Huntly in a better flow of spirits
than I had seen him for many a day.

The news of omr arrival— the restora-
tion of a long lost daughter to the arms of
her mother — ^together with exaggerted and
marvellous reports of the whole affair, had
already made the dwelling of Mrs. Huntly
a place of attraction to the villagers,
whom we here found collected in goodly
numbers of both sexes. In fact, the house
was thronged through the day, and both
Huntly and myself were kept busy in re-
counting our exploits to curious and ea^er
listeners.

Night, however, came at last, and with
its approach departed our visiters, much
to our relief and gratification.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

89

CHAPTER XIX. ,

THE TALE OF EVALINfi MORTIMER — BRIEF
HISTORY OF THE MYSTERIOUS TRIBE —
THEIR PERSECUTION, MASSACRE, FLIGHT,
PROSPERITY AND ADVERSITY — MORE MYS-
TERY — ^SPECULATIONS OF MADAME MORTI-
MER — EARLY IMPRESSIONS OF EVALISE —
HER EDUCATION — ROVING LIFE, ETC.

It was about an hour after nightfall, that,
every thing having become quiet, we form-
ed a pleasant circle before a bright fire, in
the dwelling of Mrs. Huntly, to hear the
tale of Evaline Mortimer. Throughout
the day, all had been too busy in entertain-
ing guests to attend to private affairs; but
now the transient visiters had departed,
and none were by to listen save those most
deeply interested. Evaline, in the course
of the day, had managed to steal away for
an hour, during which she had opened her
" treasure-box," as she termed it, wherein
she had found a parchment in the hand-wri-
ting of Great Medicine, whose contents she
had eagerly devoured, and the substance
of which, together with what she knew of
herself, she was now about to lay before us«

" Come," said Madame Mortimer, after
lk)me trifling conversation had passed:
*< Come, dear Evaline, now for the romance
of your life! We are all eager for the
story."

" And when I have told it," said Eva-
liae in reply, smiling sweetly, '^ I shall
have told a tale to which no mortal ear
has ever before listened, and a portion of
which has been unknown to myself till
within the last few hours. I have exam^
ined the record of Great Medicine, and
find much therein Idid not know b^ore;
but still, with all the knowledge gained
therefrom, L should have remained ignor-
ant of the most important period of my
history — important to me at least — but for
this providential meeting with my dear
mother and sister, the former of whom
can perhaps put the connecting link be-
tween what I know and my> birth.

" As the scroll of Great- Medicine is in

a language to you unintelligiMe, and as

the narration on the whole is rather dis-

•pnnected, I wiU»,with your permission,

6

omit a translation, and tell the story in my
own way, and thus in a more direct form
bring to bear all the knowledge I have re-
garding myself and those with whom my
fortune has been linked.

" My earliest impressions are of Great
Medicine and the Indians with whom he
was associated. Of his early history I
could never learn any thing authentic. It
was current with the tribe, that he had
come from afar, had formerly been a great
chief, and wj^s now the sole remnant of
his race. sEme twelve or fifteen years
prior to the period I speak of-— -or say a
little more than thirty years ago— he had
appeared among the various tribes then
located in one of the more eastern terri-
tories, and had brought with him three
white missionaries of the Moravian school,
who at once set to work to convert the
savages to the Christian faith. The influ-
ence of the old man — for even then Great
Medicine was v/ell advanced in years —
tended much to allay the vindictive feel-
ings which the savages were disposed to
manifest toward his white friends, and to
which they were secretly urged on by
British agents — this, as you will bear in
mind, being the period of the commence-
ment of hostilities between America and
Great Britain. The result of the matter
was, that several of the Indians became
converts to the true faith, renounced the
barbarisms of their ancestors, and threw
down their war implements to take them
up no more. These converts were of va-
rious tribes, and were subsequently by
each tribe denounced as impostors and
coward squaws, and persecuted in many
cases even to the death — sp that the sur-
vivors were obliged to abandon theii; homes
and seek safety in flight; These fugitives,
by an arrangement 6f Great Medicine, all
gathered together, and in solemn conclave
formed themselves into a tribe, of which
he was appointed chief— or rather Great
Medicine — for the title of chief was by
them abolished. A mode of worship was
then established, of which several songs,
composed by the missionaries, formed a
striking feature, and made the ceremonies s
more impressive than they might other-r-
wise have been,"

V

90

LENI-LEOTI;

^

''And these songs,'* interrupted I,
" were the same you once translated to
meV

" The same," answered the sweet nar-
ratorj ** with the exception of what they
may have gained or lost by the peculiar
dialect finally adopted by the new-formed
tribe. The ceremonies of this tribe,"
she continued, "were not all establish-
ed at once, and may now differ some-
what from those of the time in question,
though the same I believe in the main
features. * ' ^

** As the Indian, by nature\nd associa-
tion, is peculiarly fitted to believe in the
marvellous, it is not surprising that some
portiob of this reverence for the supernatu-
ral should have clung to those of the new
faith; and in consequence of this, Great Me-
dicine was supposed to be inveFted with
powers lieyond' the mere mortal. Whether
or no he believed this of himself, I am un-
able to say; but certain it is, he took care
the rest should think so; and ever excluding
himself from the tribe, except when his
presence was absolutely necessary, he suc-
ceeded by his peculiarities, eccentricities,
strange incantations and tbe like, in draw-
ing around himself a veil of m}rBtery which
none ever presumed to penetrate. On the
whole, he was a very strange being; and
though all loved, all feared him; and none
ever knew for a certainty who he was or
whence he came. If one presumed to
question him, it was only for once. The
silent look he received from that small dark
eye, was enough. It thrilled and over-
awed him, and he turned away, resolved
never to question again. Even I, whom
he ever treated with affectionate care —
who was constantly admitted to his pre-
sence when all others were excluded — who
had the advantage of being with him in
his most meditative and communicative
moods--even t, was never made wiser
than my companions. As I have said once
before, he ever remained an enigma with-
out a solution. Like the rest, I loved and
I feafed him-^with this difference, per-
haps — ^that the former with me was the
stronger of the two. passions. But to re-
turn from this slight digressiob*
" The tribe organized under the <k>htrol

of Great Medicine, for a time flourished
well, and constantly increased by new
converts from the neighboring tribes. But
this nearly proved its overthrow. The
savages at last became jealous, and de-
clared if this state of things continued,
their villages would become depopulated.
They swore revenge, and took it, and most
dire revenge it was. They made a de-
scent upon their harmless friends, and with
ruthless hands slew their own relatives,
and took the missionaries captives, whom
they afterwards put' to the tortures. It
was a terrible massacre — a massacre with-
out resistance on the part of the victims,
whose peculiar tenets of religion forbade
them to fight even in defence of their
lives. At one fell swoop nearly all were cat
off. None, upon whom the blood thirsty as-
sailants laid hands, were spared. Women
and children-^the infant at the breast —
the promising youth and tender maiden —
the man in the prime of life and the hoary-
headed veteran: all were alike victims —
all shared one common fate — all found ar
bloody grave." ^_

"What a terrible scene!" exclaimed
Madame Mortimer, shuddering.

" Terrible! terrible!" echoed Lilian and
Eva.

" And how many do you suppose perish-^ '
edi" asked Mrs. Huntley.

"I cannot say," answered Evaline.
" All I know is, that only a few escaped
-<-eome half a dozen I believe — among
whom was Great Medicine. They fled
fast and far, to another part of the wil-
derness, but still firm in that faith by
which they had been so sorely tried.
When hundreds of miles had been placed
between them and their fierce enemies,
they paused In their flight, and select-
ing a pleasant spot, erected a few huta,
and continued their devotions as before*
Here they were visited by other tribes,
who, knowing nothing of their history,
and struck with their peculiarities and
mode of worship, treated them with great
respect and reverence, and called them the
Wahsochee^-equivalert to the English
word Mysterious — by which name and the
title of their founder they have ever since
beto known. '^

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

91

" Here Providence again favored them,
and their numbers increased very rapidly.
I'heir fame spread far and wid||<^ ever the
vast wilderness, and bold wartfors from
distant tribes came to see them, many of
whom remained, converts to their faith.
In this manner the Wahsochee village
again became populous; and the different
tribes, though at deadly enmity with one
another, all concurred in respecting and
leaving them nnmolested. As those wh^
^Joined them were among the most intelli*
gent of their race, and as these were £rom
a great many nations, the language of
^jMh was gradually introduced, until, be-
sides a dialect of their own, tiie tribe had
the advantage of understanding that of al-
most every other of note.

'< Thus for several years all went on
prosperous, and their number had augment-
ed from six to an hundred and fifty, when
that fatal malady, the small-pox, broke out
and swept off four-fifths of the nation. —
From this awful blow they never fully re-
covered — at teast, never to be what they
were before — ^for many who were on the
point of joining tiiem, were deferred by
what they declared to be the angry frown
of the Great Spirit; and although other
tribes were scourged in like manner, still
the nuHre superstitious contended that the
Wi^sochee religion could not be jnpd, or
the Great Spirit would not have ^mi an-
gry with them, even though he were wtth^
^heir neighbors.

*' This latter affliction occurred some
two years prior to my being brought among
them, of which mysterious event I shall
aow proceed to speak, as I find it recorded
by Great Medicine himself."

<' Permit me a word, Evallae, before you
proceed farther!" said I, interrupting her.
*^ Since you have briefly given the history
of the Mysterious Tribe, may I inquire
why it was, on our first acquaintance, you
■o strongly insisted I should question you
Bot concerning yourself or eompanionsi"
''In the first place," she answered,
<* Great Medicine had expressly declared
(and his wo^ was law with us) that no-
thing of our history most be told to stran-

to gratify which would avail us nothing.
In the second place, of my early history I
was ignorant — at least of that whiqh -re-
ferred to my parentage— -and to be ques-
tioned, ever caused me the most painful
embarrassment; besides, of what I did
know, 1 had promised the old man to re-
veal nothing. I knew I was not of the
Indian race; but to admit this, would lead
to a thousand other inquiries, which could
not be answered, and, which I felt a stran-
ger bad no right to make. Are you an-
sweredl" ■ Jk .

" Fully an4 fMmKctQnij, Go on with
yoiir story!"

« The location of the tribe, at the pe-
riod of which I now speak," proceeded
Evaline, <' was near^the Des Moines river,
in the southern part of that territory since
known as Iowa. While the tribe remain-
ed here, it was customary for Great Medi-
cine to make a journey to St. Louis, as of-
ten as once a year, to trade his furs, skins,
embroidered moccasins and the like, for
powder, lead, beads, blankets, and what-
ever else he fancied the tribe might need.
On his return from one of these excur-
sons, (so he gives the story,) and when
some ten miles aboVe St. Louis, having
fallen behind' Ms party, he was overtaken
by a fierce looking horseman, who bore in
his arms a little girl eome two or three
years of age, and who at once accosting
him in a very gruff manner, * demanded
whither he was going. This horseman,
he says, was a very villainous looking
white man, who wore a long flowing beard,
had a black,fieT7 eye, was short in atature,
and heavy set.

« On hearing the reply of Great Medi-
cine, the former drew a pistol and dis-
mounted, ordering him to do the same. —
Once, he writes, he would have shot and
scalped the bold intruder without a word;
but now he had no such thougfhts; and he
obeyed him in alienee,- wondering what
was to come next

"'Here is a brat,' said the stranger,
pointing to the child now crouching at his
feet, ' whieh I wish out of the way, and
am too much of a cow&rd to effect mj^lle-

ihing, would proceed firom idle curiosity,

gers, whose desire to know, aa a general sires. Take her» St is yo«r calling, and

here is gold,'

92

LENI-LEOTI:

" ' Yoa are mistaken in me,' replied
Oreat Medicine, * if yon suppose I will aid
your baae ends. I would not kiil that in-
nocen^t little creature to own the world.'

"*By i»'' replied the other, making

i|se of an oath; ' and you i^n Indian and

ftay this! What in the name of ails

the child, th^at all fear to harm herl She
must die though; and if you, will not un-
(jertake the job, why, then there is no other
alternative;' and he placed his pistol to her
head.

*^' Stay!' cried thoU man, beseeching-
ly; 'I will not harm nikyself; but if you
wisji to rid yourself of her, I will consent
to place her far from civilisation, and adopt
her into my tribe.'

<* * But s1^ is a child of consequence,'
pursued the other, 'the daughter of one
who is a great chief in his. own country, and
cftands between roe and fortune. Should
she return *

*' ' There is no likelihood of that,' inter-
rupted the other, ' as I shall take her some
hundreds o( miles into the wilderness.'

** * But her father, who knows nothing
of my design, and to whom I must report
her lost or dead, may institute search. —
1{(^ do I know she may not be found V

"VThat I think impoi^ible,' rejoined the
M man.

'V'But Piis will make all sure,' continu-
ed the dark stranger, again pointing the
pistol at her head.

" * Nay, hold!' cried the other in alarm.
' If you dare to murder her, I will make
her spirit haunt you forever!'

« < You make her spirit haunt me! Umph !
what are you, but a decrepid old Indian?
By heavens! I have a mind to murder you
both. But I hate murder; for in fact one
never feels safe afterwai'ds. Do you be-
lieve in a God, old manV-^for you talk as | proved my only comfort in affliction. But

You think there is no danger of her being
discovered?'

« ' Not the least.'

" * And you say you believe in a God?'

« ' I do.'

" * You hope for salvation, as' men term
it?'

«*Ido.'

*• * Then swear, by your hopes of salva-
tion, to keep her among the Indians as
long as you live — ^to adopt her into your
tribe, and never to mortal ear to reveal a
word concerning this interview, or how
she came in your possession — ^that vou
will never attempt to trace out her parent-
age, nor make any inquiries concerning
her — swear this, and she is yours. Re-
fuse, and her death and yours is the pen-
ally.'

*< < I swear to all,' answered Great Me*
dicine.

'*' Enough! take her, and speed thee to
the wilderness; while I will away and report
her dead — murdered by the Indians,' he
added, with a grim smile. Then leaping
upon his horse, he muttered as he turned
away: * All is safe, I think, for we shall
soon be over the water;' and the next mo-
ment both horse and rider were lost in the
forest.

"'This child,' writes Great Medicine,
^befa<^in yourself, Prairie Flower! and
this i"l I know of your early history.' "

*< Strange!" said Madame Mortimer, mn-
singly. " Here is more mystery — I do net
understand it. Who could have beeu this
horseman? and what the meaning of his
words? As you were stolen away on the
night succeeding my desertion by your fa-
ther, I had ever supposed — or hoped, rather
— you had been tc^ken away by him, and
with him, wherever he went; and this hope

one the world denominates Christian.'
'* < I do believe in a God,' answered Great

Jtfedicine; 'and if you dare to hanu this

child. His just retribution shall foUow

you even to the remotest bounds of <earth

and time.'
" The other paused, reflected, and then

added :
" < I would not have her blood upon my

BfixxX, for I have sin enough there ahready.

now I do not know what to think. This
horseman could not have been your father,
for the description is not at all like him.
The latter was tall — dark complexioned, it
is true-*-but with fine features and hand-
some person. And then he referred to
your father, as knowing nothing of this
dark transaction, and termed him a great
chief in his country, and said you were
standing between him and ferine. W.hat;

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST,

93

could he have meant by this last? Your
father had no fortune to my knowledge,
and mine was so fixed he could not get it.
Ha! a thought strikes me. He was an
exile from his native land — though for
what he would never tell me: — would nev-
er speak of his early history. It is pos-
sible be may have been a personage of
consequence, banished for some state in-
trigue, and again restored. It may be he
had news of this when he came to declare
his intention of leaving me. And now I
remember, he once intimated that he would
some day be independent of me, though I
did not know what was meant. This niust
be it!" she continued, as if soliloquising;
'< this must be it! and this stranger, some
fiend in human form, plotting to succeed
him in wealth and station. Oh! the wick-
edness of all mankind! But I forget, my
friends, you do not know of what I speak,
as I have never told you my history."

" Nay, madam," returned I, " we know
more than you think."

" Indeed! and howl"

Lilian blushed, and I became embarrass-
ed — for I felt I had, in my heedlessness,
said a word too much.

" Pardon me!" I returned, " and do not
blame my informant! I must own I have^
heard the tale before. But you ^11 not
regret it, perhaps, when I say, thar to this
very knowledge you are partially, if not
entirely, indebted for the presence of your
long lost daughter."

•* I blame no one," she answered solemn-
ly; " for all, in the hands of God, has work-
ed for my good. I understand it all," she
added, glancing at Lilian and Eva. "These
tell-tale blushes reveal the truth. Eva
told Lilian in confidence, and love wrung
from her the secret. I am glad it is so.
You are all my friends, and the tale by
rights belongs to you. I might never have
told it myself, unless on an occasion like
this — for I do not care to have the cold,
idle world speculating and jesting on the
secrets of what has long been an unhap-
py, if not wretched heart. In my younger
days, I was headstrong and rash, and did
many a wrong, as I have since felt to my
cost — and might have done mare, perhaps,
but for my dear daughter Eva's sake. Ay!

for her, I may say, I Uved; for had Bhe
been taken from me, the grave ere this had
covered a broken heart."

Her last words were said iu a trembling
voice and with deep emotion.

" God bless you, mother!'' exclaimed
Eva, in a tone which brought tears to th6
eyes of all present.

" He has Hlessed tne, my child—blessed
me beyond my deserts. Had I been what
J. should have been, perchance your father
had never left i^ my daughters. But
enough of this. , 'Tis past naw— gone be-
yond recall — and the result is before us.
But go on, dear Evaliite — ^go on with your
story!"

" Were I to teil the whole,*^ resumed
the latter, " it would take me hours — naj^,
days — but that I shall not attempt to-night,
only so far as relates to my earliest years
and earliest impressions. In future I will
give you more, little by little, until you get
the whole.

" As I have said previously, my earliest
recollections are of Great Medicine and
his tribe. I remember his dark, keen eye,
and of his gazing upon me for hours, When
none were by, and he thought I did not no-
tice him. Bqt I was older in thought than
he was aware of; and I used to wonder at
this singularity, when he believed I won-
dered at nothing. I remember many and
many a time of kneeling down to a spring
of clear water, gazing at my features, and
wondering why I was so different from my
companions. I saw, even then, that my
features were fairer and of an entirely dif-
ferent cast; and this, to my young fancy,
seemed most strange, as I believed myself
of the same race as those around me. —
Great Medicine I then thought my father
— ^for so he bade me call him, and so I
did. As I grew older, this contrast^^this
difference in person — struck me more and
more, and at last I made bold to interro-
gate the old man concerning it.

" Never shall I forget his look, as I, in
childish simplicity, asked the question. He
started, as if etung by a serpent, and his
small black eyes fastened upon mine as
though to read my very soul. Never had
I feared him till then. There was a wild
fascination in that gaze, which thrilled and

u

LENI-LEOTI:

orerawcd me, and made my own seek the
ground. Never shall I forget his words,
as he advanced and took my hand. It was
not so much what he said, as his impres-
sive manner of saying it.

"* Child,' he replied, • you seek to know
too much, and the knowledge you seek
would render you in future years the most
unhappy of* mortals. Something I feel
you must now know — and this it is: You
are not of my race; you are a pale-face;
I am your guardian .^Seek to know no
more, for all is dark heyond. Be one of
us, and be happy in ignorance. Breathe
this I have told you to no mortal ear! and
never, never question me again. You pro-
mise, girl?' he added.

" ' I do.'

"'Enough! Go!'

" I left his presence a changed being,
though he knew it mot; for his straiige
language and manner had roused that eter-
nal thirst for knowledge, which he had
thought and sought to allay. I questioned
him no more; but his singular words I pon-
dered in secret.

" * There is mystery here,' I would re-
peat to myself; but I took care to repeat
it to no other human being. ^

" To detail my strange conjectures from
that time forth, would be to lay bare the
secret workings of an ever active spirit.
I shall not attempt it, but leave it to your
imagination.

"About this period, a few missionaries
set up a temporary station near our locali-
ty, for the double purpose of making con-
verts to their faith and imparting know-
ledge to the unenlightened Indians, by
teaching them to read and write. At the
request of Great Medicine, three of their
number came and took up their abode with
us, for the latter purpose. I was at once
placed under their instruction, as were all
the younger members of the village. On
my first appearance before them, they
seemed surprised, and questioned me re-
garding my name and parentage — at the
same time expressing their belief I was
not an Indian — or, at the most, only a half-
breed. I replied, that as to myself they
might conjecture what they pleased, but
that I was not then at liberty to answer

any questions, and there the subject drop-
ped.

*• A year's tuition and close application
made me quite a scholar, and I could now
read and write the English language quite
fluently, as could several of the more in-
telligent of my companions. At the close
of the period mentioned, our teachers, af-
ter presenting each of their pupils with a
Bible, and distributing among us several
other religious books, departed to"^ another
section of country. Soon after this, Great
Medicine proposed that we should adopt a
more roving life, as in this manner he
thought greater good might be effected.— ^^
Accordingly we began moving from one
quarter to another, striving to subdue the
wild passions of the Indians of the differ-
ent tribes we met. In this of course we
were not in general successful — though
our exemplary mode of life ever appeared
to make a favorable impression on their /
savage hearts, and win their respect^7 ^^ '
course of time we became personally
known in every section of the broad west,
and were allowed to come and depart as
we saw proper. Whenever we heard of a
battle about to be fought between two na-
tions, we would generally follow one party
or the other, that we might be on the
groun^ to succor the wounded. If we
gained tidings of a strong party about to
assault a weaker, we would manage, if
possible, to warn the latter. Or, in the
event of the forces being equal, if we
knew of a surprise one tribe had planned
for another, it was ever our design to warn
the unwary. Whites as well as Indians
received from us the same warnings —
though how our information was obtained,
generally remained a mystery to those not
in the secret. And moreover, great cau-
tion was required by the informant in these
cases, to avoid exposing himself to the ag-
gressors, who, in the heat of passion,
would be likely to seek revenger On
many of these errands of mercy — for I
think I may so term them — ^hate I been
sent, when I knew a single error would
cost me my life. But I believed I was do-
ing my duty, put my trust in a Power
above, and filtered not in my purpose. I
was never detected but once to my know-

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

95

ledge; and in this instance, fortunately for
me, I had rendered the tribe aggrieved the
same service as that for which they brought
me to trial before their council. This be-
ing proved, it was finally decided the obli-
gation on their part cancelled the aggres-
sion on mine, and I was allowed to go free,
with a very significant intimation, how-
ever, that if caught in the second offence,
my sentence would be death.

'' But as I do i}ot intend to enter into
detail to-night, and as I already feel some-
what fatigued, I will drop my narrative
here, and, as I said before, give you from
time to time the most striking incidents of
my life, as they occur to my recollection.
I have briefly told you all I know of my
early history, and by your leave will so
end the story."

CHAPTER XX.

EVALINE'S resolve — SOME PLANS FOR THE
FUTURE — RETIRE FOR THE NIGHT — SUB-
SEQUENT EXCITEMENT OF MY FRIEND

IMAGINARY DUEL — A HAPPY MISTAKE —
LOVE TRIUMPHANT — THOUGHTS OF HOME.

" Poor child! my own sweet Evaline,"
said Madame Mortimer, affectionately, as
the former concluded; <' what a singular
life has been yoursi and how much you
must have suffered!"

" For which she shall be made happy the
rest of her days," said Eva, springing to
and imprinting a kiss on her lips.

"Ah!" chimed in Lilian, following the
example of Eva, " did I not say we would
love her as a sisterl"

" Ay, but I had no idea you spoke so
much truth, and in a double sense," re-
joined Eva, glancing archly toward Charles.
" I trust we may love her as a sister both!"

" Indeed you may," chimed in I, laugh-
ing. "Eh! Charley 1"

" Be quiet, I beg of you!" answered my
friend, in some confusion, while E valine
hung her head with a blush, and a plea-
sant smile played over each face of the
rest of the group. ;

" And now, dear Evaline," said Madame

Mortimer, " I suppose we may count on
your spending the remainder ol your days
with usl"

Evaline seemed to muse seriously, but
did not reply.

" Surely you do not hesitate, my child V '

" Why, to tell the truth," shft answered,
" I love the Indians, and know they will
be loth to part with me."

" And has a mother no tie stronger than
that of mere association?" rejoined the
other, reproachfully.

Evaline looked up, and her eyes filled
with tears.

" Nay, mother," she said, " do not speak
thus! Yes!" she exclaimed, suddenly ris-
ing and throwing her arms around the
other's neck: " Yes, dear mother, I will go
with you, even to the ends of the earth —
for I fee] I could not part from you again.
From my very childhood, I have yearned
for this happy moment, to hear the eweet
voice of one I could call mother. It may
be wrong to forsake my calling; but if it
be, I feel I must err; for I am only mortal
after all, and cannot withstand the temp
tation of being with those I already love
beyond all others I have ever seen."

" Bless you, Evaline, for those words!'*

" But I must return to them," she add*-
ed. " I have promised* that. I moBt re-
turn and bid them a last farewell."

" But where are you to fiad them, my
child 1"

. " They will winter on the Black Hills,
some sixty or seventy miles from Fort La-
ramie."

"And will they remain through the
spring]" asked I.

" I cannot say. They may remain there
through the summer, for all are particular-
ly attached to the spot; and if any place
can be called their home, it is the one in
question."

" Xhen you can visit them on our way
to the east; and every thing prosperous,
we shall start as early in the spring as
practicable."

" O, then we are to go east in earnest!"
exclaimed Eva, clapping her hands for joy.

" Yes," I replied, " I am anxious to see
home, and cannot think of leaving my
friends behind me."

96

LBNI-LEOTI:

"Thank yoa for this welcome DCfWs!"
she returned; ^ tor T am already tired of
the forest."

*<But you do not regret having come
here, Eval" said her mother, inquiringly.

" Why, I have regretted it -all along, till
I found my sweet sister. Of course I can
not regret being made happy by her pre-
sence, which but for this journey had pro-
bably never been. At the same time, I
am not the less anxious to return now, and
take her with me."

" And I," said Mrs. Huntly, " now that
I am blessed with my children, begin to
feel anxious to see my native land again,
to there pass the remainder of my days,
and lay my bones with those that have
gone before me."

" God grant it may be long ere the lat-
ter event!" returned Charles, with feeling.

"Amen!" added I.

" It seems," observed Madame Mortimer,
after some reflection, "as if Providence
especially directed our steps hither; and
it is the only way I can account for my
anxiety to visit this part of the world, and
thus expose myself and Eva to hard-
ships and perils. What need had I to
come westward! I had a handsome com-
petence^- and no ambition to be a pioneer;
and yet something whispered me I must
go. Truly, as I said before, God works in
wonders!"

In like conversation an hour or two flew
by, when the party broke up, and Madame
Mortimer and her daughters were conduct-
ed by Huntly and myself to their own
abod^, which was close at hand, and the
fatigue and excitement of the day was soon
by each forgotten in the pleasant dreams
of the night.

Time rolled away pleasantly, and the
third night after this, having retired at the
usual hour and fallen into a sweet sleep, I
was awakened by Huntly, whom I found
pacing up arid down the room, apparently
in great excitement.

"Good heavens! what is the matter?"
exclaimed I, rubbing open my eyes and
starting up in bed.

" So, then, you are awake at last!" he
replied, his eyes sparkling with what to
me seemed unnatural fire. " Why, Frank,

I was beginning to think you were taking
your last, long sleep, and that I might as
well call to a log of wood. Come! up,
now, and give me joy! It is all settled,
my dear fellow — all settled!"

" Is iti" rejoined I, completely at a loss
to comprehend what he meant, but some-
how, in my sleepy confusion, mixing it up
with a duel of which I had been dreaming
the night previous. "And so it is all settled,
eh] Well, I am glad to hear it, Charley."

" I knew you would be," he replied;
" and I awoke you on purpose to have you
share my happiness. Come, give me your
hand!"

" But how did you settle it, Charley!"

" O, I made bold to take up the matter
at last and press it to a conclusion."

" And so you settled it!"

" Ay, and it is to come ofi^ at the same
time as yours."

" As mine! But my friend, I have no
such affair on hand, to my knowledge."

" What!" exclaimed Huntly, looking at
me in astonishment. " Why, you have
given me to understand, all along, that you
had."

" I? No, you must be mistaken."

" Ha! then you have quarrelled!"

" No! exactly the reverse. But you told
me a moment since you had settled the
whole matter, and now you say it is to
come off with mine. Somehow I do not
understand it. Either you or I must have
made a great mistake. When you said it
was all settled, I supposed you to mean
amicably settled; but I see now you sim-
ply referred to manner, time and place. —
Well, at all events, I will stand by you to
the last, though I sincerely regret the af-
fair could not have ended without a meet*
ing. Pistols or rifles, Charlesi"

" Pistols or rifles!" he repeated, gazing
at nje with a peculiar expression. " Why,
Frank, what do you mean by this strange
languajjel or are you still asleep] In the
name of all that is curious, pray tell me if
you know yourself what you are talking
about!"

" Why, fighting, of course."

« Fighting]"

" Ay, you were speaking of a duel, were
you not]"

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

97 -

For a brief moment Hontly looked at
ijae seriouel/, and then broke forth in a
roar of laughter that fairly made the cabin
tremble. It was some time ere he could
command his voice sufficiently to make
himself intelligible.

" Go to bed, Frank!" were his first
words, as, half bent over, his hands clasp-
ing his ribs, he stood gazing at me with a
comical look. " Go to bed, Frank, and
dream yourself into a sensible fellow — for
just now you are as wild ad a night-hawk."

" But if you did not allude to a duel,
Charles, pray tell me to what you did al-
lude!" .

" To matrimony — neither more nor less,"
he answered, laughing.

"Ha! I see it all now. Why, how stu-
pid I must have been! But I was dream-
ing of a duel last night, and being awaken-
ed so suddenly, and seeing you so excited,
got completely bewildered. And so you
have been tete-a-tete with Evaline, found
your tongue at last, and said the sensible
thing, ehl"

" Ay ! and am now the happiest fellow
living."

" You found it all right, did you, just as
J said you would]"

" So far that I found she loved me, and
had from the date of our first meeting; but
that, believing herself a poor, nameless
girl, she had avoided me, and striven in
vain to crush her passion in the bud. —
Though she would have loved me, she said,
to the exclusion of all others, even to the
day of her death, yet had matters not turn-
ed out as they have, she would most as-
suredly have refused my hand, though back-
ed by all the eloquent pleadings of which
the human tongue is master."

" Ay, and indeed would she!" I rejoined,
" for such is her proud, noble nature. You
remember our conversation years ago re-
specting her. My remark then was, if I
mistake not, that though she might
love, she would reject you; and gave, as
one reason therefor, that she was too no-
ble minded towed above herself. Strange!
what has since transpired, and for which
you may thank your stars! You and I lit-
tle dreamed then what the future had in
etore — that mighty future, which to all

mortal eyes is a sealed book, on whose
pages ar^ impressed the destinies alike of
worlds, of nations, and of individuals,
which none may read but as its pages are
o'erturned by the wizzard fingers of old
Time. Well, well, thank God all has
turned out for the best!"

" Ay, Prank," returned ray friend, sol-
emnly, ** we may well thank God, and con-
gratulate each other that we are here alive,
after the thousand dangers to which we
have been exposed."

" And she accepted your handl" I said,
after a pause.

" She did, though not without much ur-
ging; for she contended that even now she
was but a simple forest maiden, unused to
the ways of civilization, and far my inferior
in education, and said that I might aspire
higher and be successful. But she loved
— that was enough for me — and love and
my pleadings at last overcame her scruples,
aind I left her with a. lighter heart than I
have known for many a long year."

" Well, my friend, I sincerely congratu-
late you on the happy termination. And
so, to speak plainly, your wedding is to
come off with mine?"

« Even so."

^ Mine was to have come off on thflday
you returned; such were the conditions;
but the day passed as you know how, and
as we are determined on going east in the
spring, Lilian and I have thought best to de-
fer it till we arrive at home. Ah ! Charles,
how that word thrills me! Home! Ah,
me! how long since I have seen it! and
who knows what disappointment and sor-
row may be there in store for me! And how
must my doting parents have mourned my
long absence! Perchance they think me
dead! Merciful Heaven! perchance they
may be dead themselves! Oh God! should
such be the case-r — But, no! I will not,
dare not, think so. I will hope for the
best, and strive not to borrow trouble. It
is enough to bear it when it comes. Come,
my friend, to bed! for the thought of home
has driven all others from my mind, and I
can talk no more to-night."

98

LENI-LEOTI:

CHAPTER XXI.

HAPPY MOMENTS — WINTER AMUSEMENTS —
PREPAKATIONS TO DEPART — THE WAH-
SOCHEES — teddy's IDEA OF DOUBLING
OR QUITTING MY SERVICE — HOMEWARD
BOUND— ARRIVE AT FORT LARAMIE.

How sweetly time passes when with
those we lore. Moment then follows mo-
ment in unbroken succession, and com-
mingling like drops of water, f jrms the
great stream ef Time, which, flowing plst
flowery banks and lulling us with its gen-
tie murmur, glides swiftly and evenly
away, bearing us on its broad bosom to the
boundless and fathomless ocean of Eter-
nity. It is when in sweet and constant
communion with those we love, we forget
the jars and discords of our past life, in
the enrapturing harmony of the present.
We then lose sight of the world as it is,
and only behold it through that magic glairs
of inner joy, which shows all its beauties,
but conceals its defects. These moments
of earthly beautitude are most precious

^'and evanescent. They are as so many of
golden sunshine, streaming upon the other-
wise gloomy path of the traveller, and
showing him a thousand beauties, of whose
existence so near him he had previously
no conception.

Thus it was with myself and friends. —
Time rolled away almost unnoted, and ere
we had prepared ourselves to bid old hoary-
headed Winter adieu, we found, to our sur-
prise, he had gone, and that light-footed
Spring was gaily tripping and smiling in
his place.

^ Although far in the wilderness, Oregon
City was not without its attractions. Of
the settlers, many were young people, who
had been well brought up in the east, and
had come hither to try their fortunes.-^
They did not believe in renouncing all
their former amusements; and in conse-
quence, gay parties, festivities and balls
succeeded one another in rapid succession.
To these myself and friends were always
invited, and a number of them we attend-
ed. They were rude in comparison to
some in older settlements it is true; but
being in general conducted with great

propriety, often proved very agreeable pas-
times, and enlivened the otherwise rathej
dull monotony of the village. v

As spring advanced, we began gradually
to prepare for our journey. The real es-
tate previously purchased by Mrs. Huntly,
was readily sold for cash, and the receipts
doubled the purchase money. As we de-
signed taking nothing with us but what
was absolutely necessary, the furniture of
both Mrs. Huntly and Madame Mortimer
was also disposed of — possession to be
given 80 soon as the premises should be
vacated.

As our party of itself was not strong,
and as there were many here who design-
ed going east — some to procure goods,
some to remain, and others, who had come
here in advance, to bring on their families
— we decided to join them, and thus jour-
ney in comparative security.

Great was the delight of Lilian and Eva,
as the time drew near for our departure.
In fact, towards the last, they could think
of nothing, talk of nothing, but the plea-
sure of quitting their present abode, and
what they would do when they should safe-
ly arrive at their destination.

With Evaline it was different. In this
journey she only saw a change of life and
scene — which, if truth must be told, she
rather regretted than rejoiced at — and a
sad parting from her Indian friends. Where
Lilian and Eva saw welcome faces and a
thousand fascinations in the haunts of civ-
ilization, she beheld nothing but the cold
gaze of strangers and the gossipping specu-
lations of the worldly-minded. She was
beautiful and fascinating in her personal
appearance — refined, polished and graceful
in her manners — but withal, so excessive-
ly modest as to underrate her own powers,
and fancy herself an awkward forest maid-
en, unfitted for the society in which she
was destined more or less to mingle. Both
Charles and I, as also the others, ever
strove to eradicate this unpleasant impres-
sion, and we in part succeeded. But still
she was diffident, sober minded, and with-
out a particle of that enthusiasm so strong-
ly manifested by her sister and Lilian.

The Indian companions of Evaline had
remained in the village through the win-

!

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

99

\

ter, and by their quiet, unobtrusive man-
. ©era, their steady, upright mode of Hfe —
so different from the drunken, brawling
natives of the neighboring tribes, who oc-
casionally visited the village — had won the
respect and regard of the citizens, and, in
fact, become decided favorites with all. —
While the former were sought for, the lat-
ter were shunned; and the widest distinc-
tion in all cases was ever drawn between
the Wahsochees and their red brethren of
other nations. But notwithstanding this
partiality, the Wahsochees were evidently
not contented in their present situation.
To them, civilized customs had less attrac-
tion than the more rude and simple ones
of their own tribe; and they were now
anxious to depart and join their friends. It
was arranged that all should proceed in
company as far as Fort Laramie, whence
Evaline could either accompany the In-
dians home, or let them go in advance to
herald her approach, as circumstances
^ ght determine.

In enumerating the different personages'
who ha\ e figured in this narrative, I must
not forget Teddy. For the last five or six
months he had been in his glory; and
between taking care of our horses, spin-
ning long yarns to the villagers, (whom,
by the way, he ever succeeded in aston-
ishing,) and making love to Molly Stubbs,
he had, as the phrase goes, had " his hands
full." Of his success in the last, I must
let the reader judge by the following col-
loquy, which took place between us a week
or 80 previous to the time fixed on for our
departure.

Approaching me with a rather timid
step, hat in hand, and making a low obei-
sence, he said:

" The top of the morning to your hon-

or.

»>

« The same to you, Teddy."

" Sure, your honor — (a pause and rapid
twirl of the hat) — sure, and is it thrue
ye're afther taking yoursilf and frinds
from these diggins (as the spalpeens call
the likes) in a week for that matherl'*

•* All true, Teddy, nothing unforeseen
preventing."

" Troth! and ye'U be missed from this
counthry whia the likes of that happens."

" I trust so, Teddy."

Another pause, another twirl of the hat,
and a scratching of the head. After some
hesitation —

" Sure, and it's me own mother's son,
Teddy OTjagherty, as 'ud like to be axing
yees a question]"

"Well, Teddy, say on!"

" Faith! and it's mesilf as has been long
in your honor's sarvice, now."

" Some three or four years,! believe, off
and on."

" And it's not a bether masther I'd iver
want, no it isn't."

« Weill"

" But ye's a-going home, now, and may-
be doesn't care for the likes of me inny
longer?"

" I see: you wish to be discharged!"

Another twirl of the hat and scratch of
the head.

" Why, now, your honor — no ofiince at
all — but — but to spaak the thruth, and
make a claan breast of it, it's that same
I'd ayther be axing for, or doubling the sar-
vice, jist."

"Doubling the service, Teddy! I do
not understand you. You mean I must
double your wages, ehl"

" Will, it's not exactly that — but-— but
ye sae — (Here the hat fell to the ground,
and Teddy made an unsuccessful effort to
recover it,) — " Murther take the luck, but
I'll say it now if I dies for it betimes! Ye
sae, your honor, I've axed Molly, and it's
all settled, and there's a-going to be the
pair of us, barring that the two counts one
Scripter-wise."

"So, so— I understand now— you are
about to be married to Mollyl"

" Why, yes, I may say that's the short
way of saying the likes, your honor."

" Exactly; and unless I wish to employ
you both, you desire to quit my service!"

"Troth! and your honor's a gintleman
at guessing."

" Well, Teddy, as I have no use for Mol-
ly at this time, I will give you an honor-
able discharge, and »a handsome wedding
present for your valuable services besides."

" God bless ye for a gintleman, ivery
inch of yees! and it's mesilf as'll niver
forgit ye in me prayers," was the warm-

100

LBNI-LEOTI:

hearted response, afl,*gra8ping my hand, he
shook it heartily, while his eyes fiUed with
joyful tears. ^ Qod bless ye for a noble
heart!" he added, as he turned away to eoro-
municate his success to jii&r with whom his
fortune was about to be linked.

Suffice it here, that I kept my word with
Teddy, who had no reason to regret having
entered my service and secured my esteem.

The long wished for day of our depar-
ture came at last, and being one of the
brightest and most pleasant of the season,
was hailed with delight as an omen of
prosperity. Every thing having been pre-
viously arranged, there was little to do but
take leave of those who remained; and
this being soon over, we were on the move
at an early hour, a goodly company of
thirty souls, two-thirds of whom were of
the sterner sex.

As much of importance is yet to be told,
and as the reader has once or twice follow-
ed me over the ground now traversed,! will
not trouble him with a detail of our jour-
ney from Oregon City to Port Laramie.
Suffice, that we reached the latter place in
safety, though much fatigued, about the
middle of July, Anno Domini 1844, and
some four years subsequent to my former
visit here, when I first beheld the beauti-
ful Prairie Flower, otherwise Leni-Leoti,

now Evaline Mortimer, and soon to be

But let me not anticipate.

CHAPTER XXII.

A JOURNEY TO THE BLACK HILLS — CAMP —
SLIGHT ALARM — SLEEPLESS NIGHT —
MEETING WITH THE TRIBE — JOT AND SOR-
ROW — THE FINAL FAREWELL — A BEAUTI-
FUL LANDSCAPE — THE PROPOSED RIDE —
A NEW CHARACTER INTRODUCED — UN-
HEEDED FOREBODINGS.

To the great delight of Evaline, as well
as those who sympathised with her, it was
ascertained soon af^er our arrival at the
fort, that some of the Mysterious Tribe
had been seen quite recently in the vlcinir
ty; from which we drew the conclusion,
that they were still at their winter quar-

ters on the Black Hills. It being Evaline's
desire to see them as soon as possible, it
was finally agreed that her sister, Lilian,
Charles and myself should bear her com-
pany, along with her Indian friends, while
her mother and Mrs. Huntly should await
our return at the fort. On learning our
determination, some five or six of the par-
ty with whom we had crossed the moun-
tains, volunteered to go with us — a favor
which we gladly accepted, as this would
strengthen our party, and render us less
liable to attack, should we ~ chance upon
hostile savages. The rest of the compar
ny, after remaining over night at the fort,
being anxious to proceed, bade us adieu,
and resumed their journey on the morning
following.

Before starting for the Black Hills, we
procured a couple of tents for the females,
which we packed on mules, and then
mounting each on a good horse, with all
the necessary equipments for defence, we
set forth on the second day at an early
hour. For a number of miles we made
rapid progress, but at length came to a
stream, whose current being swift and
banks precipitous, delayed us some time in
seeking a place to ford. This crossed, we
soon came to another where a similar de-
lay awaited us. In short, our progress
was so many times checked through the
day, that when night at last began to draw
her sable curtains, we found, to the best of
our judgment, that hardly two-thirds of our
journey had been gone'over.

Selecting a pleasant spot, we pitched
our tents, liberated our animals and en-
camped. An hour or two was passed in a
very agreeable manner, when the females,
who appeared more fatigued than we of
the sterner sex, withdrew to their quarters,
leaving the rest of vM squatted around a
large fire, which we had started, not to
warm ourselves by, for it was a sultry July
night, but to keep ofi^ the wild animals, of
whose proximity we were several times re-
minded by dismal howls.

A couple of hours preceding midnight,

our animals were driven in and picketed,

and a guard set, more from caution than

apprehension of danger. This done, the

[remainder of the party stretched them*

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

101

selves ar6and the fire, and, with the excep-
tion of my friend and I, were soan in the
enjoyment of that sweetest of all bless-
ings, a sound and healthful sleep. For
some time I lay musing • on the singular
events of my life, and then turned to
Huntly.

" Well, Charley," said I, " this seems
like old times."

** So I have been thinking " he rejoined,
•* with one exception. Prank."

" The ladles, ehl"

** Exactly. I trust nothing may occur
to make us regret their presence," he add-
ed, seriously. " You and I have faced dan-
ger too often to fear it for our own sakes
— but if any thing should happen now "

** Surely you do not dream of danger
here?" I interrupted.

** Why, to tell you the truth, Frank,"
he replied, " I have my misgivings that we
shall see trouble ere we again reach the
fort."

" God forbid! What makes you think
soV

'* I can give no reason. It is simply a
presentiment of evil."

" But from what source do you appre-
hend danger!"

" From no particular one, Frank."
" Merely a fancy of yours, {)robably,
springing from your intense interest in
those more dear to you than life."

" God send it be only fancy!" he rejoin-
ed, gloomily.

* His words made me sad, and, added to
the restlessness I had previously felt, kept
me awake a long time. At last I fell into
a feverish slumber, and was gradually pro-
gressing toward a state of utter forgetful-
noss, when a snorting and stamping of the
animals aroused me, and together with
Huntly I sprang to my feet in alarm.

" What is iti" I cried to the guard,
whom I found standing neac me, pale as
death, with his rifle pointed in the direc-
tion whence came the disturbance.

<' I do not know," he answered; " this is
ihe first I have heard. Shall I give the
alarml"

^ No! remain quiet a moment where
fxm are, and I will steal in among the ani-
and ascertaii^.the cause.. I donpt

think it proceeds from savages, or we
should have had on onset ere this."

"What then, Franki" asked Huntly,
taking his position by the tents, rifle in
hand.

«MoBt likely some wild beast, which,
urged on by hunger, has ventured a little
nearer than usual."

My conjecture this time proved correct;
for on cautiously approaching the fright-
ened animals, 1 discfovered a small wolf in
the act of gnawing a tether rope of buflfa-
lo hide. I could have shot him from where
I stood; but this I did not care to do, as it
would only create unnecessary alarm. —
Retreating a few paces and selecting a
good sized ctub, I informed the guard and
Huntly there was no cause for alarm, and
returning with a stealthy pace, got close
to the hungry beast without making him
aware of my presence. His head was
from me, and he was eagerly engaged in
getting a morsel to eke out a half-famish-
ed existence. I believe I could have kill-
ed the poor creature with a jingle blow,
and raised my club for the purpose; but
pity gained power over my resolution, and
I gave him only a gentle tap, which rather
scared than hurt him, and he ran away
howling.

This little incident, though nothing in
itself, tended so to increase the nervous-
ness of both Huntly and myself, that we
did not fall soundly asleep till the first
sign of day-break streamed up golden in
the east. An hour later we were all on
our feet, and having partaken a slight re-
past, and laughed over our fears of the de-
parted night, we mounted our horses and
again proceeded on our journey.

No more delays occurred, and ere the
sun gained the meridian, we came in sight
of the village, when our Indian compan-
ions, unable to restrain themselves longer,
uttered shouts of delight and darted away
in advance of us. I turned to Evaline,
and beheld her seated quietly on her little
pony, her gaze rivetted upon the village,
but apparently laboring under no excite-
ment. A Closer scrutiny convinced me I
was mistaken. There was little outward
display of her feelings; but I perceived in
her ashen cheeks and absent stare, that

102

LENI-LEOTI:

thoughtSy mighty in their power, were
stirring the eoul within. For a short time
she seemed unconscious of any ihing
around her, and it was not until Eva had
addressed her thrice that she received an
answer to her question:

" Is this the spot, sisterV

On the second repetition, Evaline start-
ed, turned to the fair querist and sighed:

« This is the spot."

Then covering her face with her hands,
she remained silent until addressed again.

*' Why are you so sad, Evaline V inquir-
ed Lilian. ,

*' Ay, sister, tell us!*' added Eva.

** I am thinking of the past and the fu-
ture," was the answer, in a low, tremulous
tone. " Oh, my friends!" she continued,
«yott cannot know my feelings. I am
ahout to hid farewell to those who have
been to me as brothers and sisters. I am
about to leave — to see them no more-^to
go far away to the land of the stranger. —
True, you will say, I go not alone; I shall
have with me a kind mother and sister, and
other dear friends; but still you know not
what it is to suddenly and utterly tear
yourself away from old ties and old asso-
ciations.. You know not the fascinations
of the wilderness, to one who, like myself,
has never known aught else. Even dan-
, ger has a charm to those who are bred to
it; and it is hard, with all the inducements
before me, to break the spell of unlimited
freedom with which I have roamed over
thousands' of miles of uncultivated terri-
tory. But I feel it my duty to go with
you. I can not think of parting from my
dear mother again in life. As she has
suggested, the tie binding me to her I ac-
knowledge to be stronger than that of
mere association."

** And have you no other inducement to
part from the Mysterious Tribe 1" asked
Huntly, a little reproachfully.

Evaline looked up,, her eye met his, a

slight flush colored her pale features, and

frankly taking his hand, she replied, in a

swe6t, timid voice:

** Yes, dear Charles, there is more than

•M

9i

"Qod bless, you, Evaline t" was the

to make you happy; and in the joy of
the future, you will ere long forget the
past."

" Forget, say youl" she repeated, look-
ing earnestly in his face. '' Forget the
pasti — forget my old friends! Nay," she
continued, "you know not yet the heart of
Prairie Flower, if you think she can^ever
forget."

" No, no, not exactly forget," returned
Huntly, endeavoring to recover from his
mistake: '*Not exactly forget: I do not
mean that, Evaline — but rather that you
will cease to regret this change of Hfe."

^ Perhaps so," she sighed.

" See!" I exclaimed, "the Indians have
nearly gained the village, and the inhabit-
ants are already flocking down the hill to
meet them. Let us quicken our pace;**
and galloping forward, we soon drew rein
in the center of the crowd.

"Leni-Leoti!" "Prairie Flower!" was
the universal cry on every hand, as Eva-
line leaped from her saddle and sprang to
the embrace of her Indian friends, who
pressed around her as children around a
parent~~old and young — men, women and
children— each eager to be first to greet
her with a hearty welcome. For some
time the rest of us remained wholly un-
noticed. At length, the first joyfld excite-
ment over, Evaline pointed to us, and bade
the IndianR give us welcome, whi^h they
did in a hearty manner.

Approaching Eva, Evaline took her by
the hand and said:

" In this lady, my friends, you behold
the sister of Prairie Flower."

" Another Prairie Flower!" « Another
Leni-Leoti!" was the almost simultaneous
exclamation ; and instantly collecting
around, they gazed upon her in surprise,
and began talking to each other in their
own dialect. Then, one after another,
they approached and took her hand, and
said, in broken English, that th^y were
meet happy to see her, and that she was
welcome, as the sister of Prairie Flower,
to a share in all they possessed. This re*
ception over, they invited us to the village,
where every thing in their power was done
to make us comfortable and contented. —

heevty response. ** We will all strive ' Our animals were taken in charge and

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

103

liberated, and three or four lodges ({ssign-
ed us during our stay among them.

On learning that^Evaline had only re-
turned to bid them a final farewell, the
Wahsochees one and all became very sad,
and a gloom pervaded the village, as on the
funeral day of one universally beloved. —
The women and children wept at the
thought, and some of them begged of her
in piteous tones not to leave them. Eva-
line could not witness these sincere mani-
festations of lasting affection unmoved,
and in consequence her eyes were con-
tinually filled with tears. As it had been
arranged that we should leave on the fol-
lowing morning, she was kept busy through
the day in making preparations therefor.
Her costume for different occasions, which
had been procured for her by Great Medi-
cine, and ivhich she had preserved with
great care, together with sundry other ar-
ticles and trinkets, some of which she had
purchased in Oregon City and brought
with her, she now proceeded to distribute
one by one, giving something to each as a
remembrance. This occupied her time
and attention till night, when a conference
of the nation was called, to which none of
our party save Evaline was admitted. This
conference lasted till midnight, and long
before it broke up, I, as well as most of
my companions, was sound asleep.

At an early hour in the morning, our
horses were caught and saddled, our two
mules packed, and every thing prepared
for our immediate departure. Evaline was
silent and sad, and her features showed
traces of having passed a feverish, restless
night. Thinking she might feel a diffi-
dence in having us present at her last in-
terview. I approaehed her and said:

" Evaline, the time has come to take our
final leave."

** I know it," she faltered.

"As there are some 8trai|gers in our
party, perhaps it were better, all things
considered, that we should go on before,
and await your coming at a proper dis-
tance?"

•* Thai^ you!" she replied; " the very
favor I would have asked, had I dared."

«< It shall be so. There is a little hill
yon see yonder, somewhat oat of the £-

rect course to the fort, whither we will
ride, merely for the view it affords of the
prairie beyond, and there remain till you
join us."

She again expressed her thanks, and I
returned to the others and informed them
of the new arrangement. We then pro-
ceeded to ehake hands with each of the
tribe, which occupied us some ten minutes,
and mounting our horses, rode slowly
away down the mountain, crossed the lit-
tle streamlet, and galloped over a short
level to the hill in question, on whose
summit we came to a halt as preconcerti'
ed.

It was a warm day, and the sun, about
an hour above the horizon, streamed down
his golden, mellow rays, beautifying each
object, by giving it that soft and dreamy
appearance, which, in the poetic mind,
awakens those sweet fancies that fill the
soul with holy meditation and make earth
seem a paradise. A heavy dew had fallen
during the night, and its crystalline drops,
still hanging on leaf, blade and fiower,
sparkled in the morning sunbeams like so
many diamonds. Above us gay plumaged
birds flittered from branch to branch, and
poured forth their morning carrols in a va-
riety of strains, or, flapping their wings,
darted up and away through the deep blue
ether. Around and about us, bees, beetles
and insects of divers kinds were buzzing
or basking in the sunlight, now dipping
into the flower to sip its sweets, now alight-
ing on the leaf to take a dainty morsel,
now plunging to the ground with no ap-
parent design, and then each and all up
and away, fiHing the air with a drowsy,
pleasing hum.

Not the least eifchanting of all was the
beautiful landscape that here lay spread to
our view. Behind us was the little valley
we had just crossed over, carpeted with
green and variegated with bright flowers^
through which wound a silvery streamlet,
and beyond which, like some mighty bar-
rier, the Black Hills lifted their heads far
heavenward. To the right and left, at
some little distance, was a wood, over the
top of which loomed hills one above an-
ot^ier, but gradually retreating, till the last
one, far, far in the distance, either showed

104

I

LENI-LEOTI:

the fleecy like palace of eternal snow, or
gently blended with the cerulean blue.

But before us was the scene which fixed
our whole attention. Here, for miles upon
miles, stretched away avast prairie, whose
tall, rank grass, gently vtouched by a light
breeze, undulated like the swelling of the
sea in a calm, over which fluttered and ho-
vered myriads of birds and insects, now
dipping down, skimming along the surface
and disappearing altogether, or soaring up-
ward, cleaving the balmy air, and display-
ing their little bodies as mere specks upon
the blue background. To relieve the mo-
notony otherwise attendant, here and there,
at long intervals, rose little knolls, cluster-
ed with trees, resembling islands pushing
up from the glassy surface of a tranquil
ocean. And away, and away, and away to
the dim distance stretched this same sea-
like prairie, till the eye, unable to trace it
farther, saw nothing but the soft blending
of earth and sky.

For some moments we all remained si-
lent, gazing upon the scene with feelings
peculiar to each. Lilian was the first to
speak:

" O, how beautiful I" she exclaimed, rap-
turously. " How beautiful and how sub-
lime is this great ocean of earth!"

" Ay, sublime indeed!" rejoined Eva. —
" It is just such a scene as ever fills me
with rapture — inspires me with the sacred
feeling of poesy. 0,that like one of those
gay birds, I could wing my way above it!
Would it not be delightful, Lilian?"

" Charminor!" answered the other.

** But can we not skim its surface on our
fleet steeds? Come! for a ride! a ride!
What say you, gentlemen?" she added, ap-
pealing to us.

'< So pleasant a request, from so fair a
petitioner, must needs be complied with,"
returned one of the party, gallantly, bow-
ing gracefully to Eva.

The speaker was a young man, some
twenty-five years of age, of fine person
and good address, with a handsome and
prepossessing countenance, whereon was
legibly stamped frankness, generosity and
nobleness of soul. There was an elo-
quence in his soft, dark eye, and a loftiness
of purpose on his clear, opea bjipow, which *

would have ranked him far above the herd,
had even a finished education, of which he
was possessed, been wanting. To be
brief in my remarks, he was the only son
of one of the merchants who had emigra-
ted from the State of New York to Ore-
gon City during the previous summer, and
one of the party who had so far been our
companions of the long journey. He was
now on his way east, to arrange some un-
settled affairs and purchase more goods for
his father, with the design of returning to
Oregon the following season. During the
past winter, Elmer Fitzgerald (so he was
named) had once or twice met with Eva
Mortimer; but no acquaintance had been
formed with each other previous to both
parties setting forth on the present jour-
ney, where, being daily and hourly thrown
together, sharing alike the hardships and
perils of the wilderness, it was but natural,
that, between two such individuals of re-
fined manners and cultivated tastes, there
should gradually spring up an intimacy,
which time and circumstances might ripen
to something more. But, as I have said
before, let me not anticipate.

As Elmer spoke, I noted that both his
own and the countenance of Eva slightly
flushed, and quickly turning to me, the lat-
ter said:

" And what say you, Francis?"

" I shall echo the words of Mr. Fitzger-
ald."

" Then we will go!" said Lilian, joyful-
ly. " But brother," she added, turning to
Charles, " you appear gloomy and deject-
ed. Do you object to this arrangement?"

" Why, to speak candidly," he answer-
ed seriously, " I do."

«< For what reason?" I inquired.

" I can give you no other than what I
told you last night — a presentiment of
danger."

"Pshaw! Charley," I rejoined, "there
is no danger here. The sadness of Eva-
line has made you gloomy, and a brisk
ride over this prairie will set you right

9»

again.

" And it will be beneficial to fear sister
Bvaline also," chimed in Eva, " by divert-,
ing her thoughts from her pre8eiit.Cjau9eof,
grief,"

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

105

"Suit yourselves in the matter," rejoin-
ed Huntly. " I shall of course do as the
rest. I merely spoke my apprehensions,
which, after all, may only be foolish fan-
cies."

**Lo! yonder Evaline comes!" cried Li-
lian; and looking toward the village, a part
of which was visible from where we stood,
we beheld her rapidly descending the
mountain on her little pony.

Charles instantly wheeled his horse and
rode away to meet her, and presently re-
turned in her company. She was sad, and
silent, and her eyes were red with weep-
ing, while her features generally, showed
traces of having recently passed through
a very trying,6cene.

On being informed of our present de-
sign, she silently acquiesced; and libera-
ting our mules, that they might not suffer
in our absence, we rode slowly ^down to the
prairie, and set off at a gallop, most of ua
in gay spirits, with the understanding that,
in case we became separated,' we should
all meet again at the starting point

Man plaus and Gdd performs. That
meeting, for some of the party ^ was^ des<!^
tined never to take place.

CHAPTER XXIII;

A HEBRY EIBE — ^ANOTHER BEAUTIPVL VIBV
— ^AR RXCmRG RACE — SEPARATION — ^THfi
CORTEST DECIDEI) — ALARM-^TKE PRAIRIE
OR FIRE — FLIGHT — TERRIBLE GONFLA-
GRATIOH — AFPALL1R6 STRUGGLE — HOR'n
BIBLE 8CEHE — LIFE ARI>. DEATH.:

Ibr an hour or two we spurred on to the
eaatward, in company, through the tall grass
which brushed our feet at every step, and
made our horses -labor '-exceedingly, when
Wi^ came to one of the small hills OV' knolls
previously mentioned, where* we halted to
give •or panting and foaming steeds a few^
minntes' rest. This knoll 'was clustered
with beautiful trees, under whose refresh-
ing shade bubbled up a. spring of clear.

told iwater, wherewith we first refreshed

ourselves and then our horses. From the j " And so think we all»" I rejoined; *' and

brow oC this, the viewvof every thing was

7;

more delightful than from that of the one
we had left behind us. Then we were
locking on the prairie only in one or two
directions — now we stood above and sur-
veyed it on all sides. To the north of us
was a small ridge, in shape resembling an
ox-bow, the southern' bend of which was
arbout five miles distant. This, after run
ning di^e north for a considerable distance,
appeared to take a zig-zag course and unite
with the Black Hills, which, sublime in
their grandeur, bounded the view to the
west. To the south and east, as far as
the eye could penetrate, stretched away
and away the beautiful prairie, with noth-
ing to relieve its monotony but an occa-
sional kaoU like the one whereon we stood,
and which forcibly reminded me of the
oases I had seen in the great desert.

" O, this is delightful— -enchanting!"
exclaimed Eva, with a flush of animation.
*' This is what I love* It expands the soul,
and bears one above the grovelling thoughts
of every day life.. Nature!" she added,
apostrophizing, *' i love thee in thy gran-
deur and thy simplicity! and knowi as I
gaze upon' thee, that I behold the handi-
work of that Qreat Pbwer above, which re- -
golates alike the mighty systems of ten
thousand times ten thousand worlds, and
the most trifUng event that takes plaee
upon them-.^ All alike move by a univer-
sal and immutable law; and each, as it
were complete in itself^ is but a minor
brcmch of that great maejiine which works ^
for one almighty and incom^ehensible de-
sign. Were la poet that could pen my
thoughts, I would seek'Suoha place as this, .
and alone, away^from the discords of my/
fellow being8,-write such inspiring words, .
that ages >yet' to come should read and
wonder over my^ pages, and call them the
result of a holy inspiration^"

<<^ Ay^ sister," cried Evaline, « thus ha:ve
I felta thousand* times; and- thus it is it ^
eomes'SO hard, for ^ me to part from these •
enrapturinif seenes. New can you blaoie
me for my regrets)"

" Noy sweet sister,'' answered the otliel',
" I do not blame you — far from iU I only
feel you are.agem too rare to<part with."

one of ua at least, if I may be permitted j

\

106

LENl-LEOTI:

the expfMsion, thinfcfl doubly «o;^* and T
^•AGed at tny friend.

" Af, frank,*' be answered, << treble tbat
if yott like. But come, my friends, the
day is advancingr — ^had we not better re-
tamt They will look anxiously for us at
the fort."

^ One ride more first,** said Eva, quick
ly. ^ I cannot bear to quit this scene for-
erer, without one more glorious ride."

** Whither ehaU it be,tbea1" asked Li-
Iko.

"To yonder knoll;" and «he pointed

ken at the settinv^ut. All was life and
excitement; and merry shouts and gay jests
rang out, as on we pressed our panting
aeeds through the tali grass, startling
thousands of small animals from their quiet
retreats, and scaring up flocks of birds,
whid), as they soared away, twittered their
discontent, and looked down upon us with
wonder and fear. On, on we rushed, com-
pletely lost in the enlivening chase, and
heeding nought but the still distant goal
we were striviDg to gain. On, on! still
on! with the fire of youthful ambition urg-

away to the eastward.

«Thatis far,*' rejoined Hunt,ly, «• and I
iHi we shall not get back till night, and
the day will be lost.'*

^ Lost?" echoed Eva, her eyes sparkling
with animation. ** Call you snch a day as
this lostt Oome, gentlemen," she added,
turning to the rest of us, " you do not think
so, I'll wager! On! let us on! I dare
you to a race! and my glove to him who
first puts feet <hi yonder hill in advance of

me.

»f

So saying, lAie gracefully waved her
hand; and tightening her rein, pressed her
fiery steed down the declivity and oyer the
prairie at headlong speed.

^'Araeel arace! Theglove! the glove!'*
cried eoioe half a dozen voices, and in-
stantly the whole parly was in commo-
tion.

Those who chanced to be dismounted,
at once sprang to their saddles, and all
dtshed away after their fair champion,
who, sitting erect, with the air of a queen,
was now urging her gallant beast to do hU
utmost*

Mext behind Eva rode Elmer FitxgeraM,
striving hard to overtake her, followed by
Lilian, myself and the rest of the party.
wome In couples and others alone, each
and all contending to be first at the far off
goal. I say all, but I must except Charles
and Evaline, who brought up the rear at a
tiirdy paoe, and seemed rather deliberately
following «f without excitement and inter-
est, than taking any part in the race.

With the balance of us, for the first five
miavtee, the contest appeared equal —
neither gaining cnround on the party, nor
fattuig away ftiMn the position' he had ta«

Ing us to renewed exertions.

At length the difference in the speed of
our horses began to be seen. Eva yet
kept her position in advance, but was gra-
dually losing ground before the fleeter
steed of Elmer Fitzgerald. Lilian and I,
side by side, still managed to hold our own,
and were gaining on all the others, who
were now strung out In a long single line
behind.

Half an hour passed, and the change in
our previous positions became more dis-
tinctly marked. Elmer now rode head-to-
bead with our fair leader, but both had in-
creased the distance betwen themselves and
us materially. I looked back, and beheld
the line stretched out for more thai/ a mile,
far beyond which I could dimly discern my
friend and Evaline slowly bringing up the
rear* Most t>f the party had by this time
despaired of winning the race, had even
withdrawn from the contest, and were now
following at a leisure pace. A few yet
held on, but only for ^ few minutes, when
they took pattern by the others, and we
were left masters of the field.

For another quarter of an hour we push-
ed on with vigor, when the panting of our
foaming steeds warned us to check them.
Emer and Eva were the first to take thii
precaution, and on our coming up to them*
the latter said:

«< I suppose as we have distanced all the
lathers, there will not be much strife be-
tween us. At all events, we must not kill
our horses, and they are already pret^
well blown. How much was I deceived in
the disUnce! When I proposed this racet
I had no idea there were more than five
ttilet between point and point; and y«l

f

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

107

some eight or ten miles, if I greatly err
not in judgment; have been gone over, and
yonder bill is still miles ahead."

** Distance on level ground, from an ele-
Tated point, is always deceiving," I an-
swered. " But come! f do not see the ne-
cessity of going farther. Give your com-
panion the glove, for I acknowledge him
winner, and let us return."

*< Pray, take Mr. Leighton*s advice. Miss
Mortimer!" urged Fitzgerald; ** for it is a
long distance to where we left our mules,
and our horses will suffer enough at the
best."

** Ay, ay, modest sir!" exclaimed Eva,
with a ringing laugh. '^ I understand. You
wish to be acknowledged victor, before
you have won. By my faith, sir, I had
thought you possessed of more spirit than
that. I am willing to return, for that mat-
ter; but I cannot yield the glove until the
conditions on which it was offered are
complied with."

<^Then the glove shall be mine, if I have
to make the remainder ef the journey
•lone!" cried Elmer. <*Po not flatter
yourself. Miss Mortimer, that I have ex-
erted myself thus far for nothing. The
prize J most have; 1 insist upon it; and it
remains for you to say—"

^ Good heavens! what is that!" excldm-
ed Lilian, interrupting the other»and point-
ing toward the sonth.

We all turned our eyes in the direction
indicated, and beheld, stretching along the
horizon, what appeared to be a dense,
black, rolling cloud.

^ A heavy thunder storm la approach-
ing," said Fitzgerald in reply, *< and we
stand a fair chance of being tb<vonghly
drenched."

** I think you are mistaken," rejoined I;
** for I have never seen a clond of tnch
singular appenranoe. See! how it grada-
ally creeps away to the right and left!"

** And there are bright flashes, too!" ex-
claimed Eva, breaUiless with intense ex-
citement.

<« What is iti what is it?" eried Ulian,
grasping my arm with a tfembling hand,
and gazing upon the scene with a pale, ter-
rified look. ** It is not a clond — ^it cannot
be a clood^ii ia something more awiol.— >

See! see! howfastltspreadfe! And there!
there! mark you those flashes?"

Suddenly the whole horrible truth flash*-
ed upon me, and for the moment held me
dumb with terror.

''You are pale with alarm!" pursued
Lilian, turning to me and notipg theagon^
ized expression of my countenance.

** Speak, Frauds! whatis it?" Qcreamed
Eva.

'<«Mercifa> Ood!" I gasped, ** the prairie
is on Are! We are lost!— our doom is seal-
ed!"

« Lost!" shrieked Lilian and Eva.

<*Oh, God! is there no escape?" added
the latter, wildly. ** We must — ^we must
escape!"

« Flight— flight alone can save us!^'
shouted Fitzgerald. ** Perchance we may
reach yonder hill. It is our only hope."

As he spoke, he spurred his steed, struck
Eva's with his bridle rein, and away bound-
ed both with all the speed in their power.

«< Follow!" cried I to Lilian, imitating
the example of the other, and in the wild
excitement of the moment completely los*
ing all my wonted presence of mind.-—
"Follow hard — strain every nerve— and
God vouchsafe ns victory!"

It was no longer a race of pleasure, bnt
one of fearful agony— our lives the stake,
and heavy odds against ns. Can I describe
it, reader? — describe our feelings in those
awful momenta of horrible suspense? No!
it is beyond the strengtii of the pen — ^the
power of language — and must be left to
your imagination.

Four miles, at the least— four long and
seemingly interminable miles-^intervene
between us and our destination. Can we
reach it? We have but little hope. On»
OB we urge, with whip and spur, our aK
ready drooping horses— and on, on cornea
the mighty destroyer, as if sent to execute
the long pent up vengeance of an offend^
edGod.

Away to the east, and away to the west,
and rushing toward the north, wMi the
fury of the devastati&g tomado,'C<tfoMis this
terriflc Avengef , sweeping all in llis 6our«e»
making all black and desolate which a few
minntea since had seemed so lovely, roD-
ing vp^to the rtarj done ef Heaven his

"?r3«r^

^^F

^f^

---^

108

LENI-LBOTI:

;v

. 's

huge volumes of 8moke,^f gigaotic and
hideous ehi^pes, with red sheets of flame is-
suing from its appalling blackness, as they
were the burning tongues and eyes of
hell's unchained demons » so shaped by our
wild and distorted imaginations. On, on!
— how our horses snort, and foam, and
tremble! Tbey have caugbt our fears, and
are doing their utmost to save us and
themselves. On, on, on! — two miles,
thank Gpd! are passed — but, alas! there
are two more before us, and our gallant
beasts are already beginning to falter with
fatigue. On, on!^^behold our terrible
foe advance! his fiery banners stream-
ing up brighter^ redder and more bright as
he nears us — bis ten thousand scorching
and blasting, tongues, hissing, roaring- and
destroying every living thii^ that comes
within their reach.

Oh! how sublime — how awfully sublime
this spectacle! on which we rivet our fas-
cinated eye^s, while our hearts leap to our
throats, and. our lips are compressed with
an indescribable fear.

Now listen to these apparently unearth-
ly sounds! The prairie is alive with mil-
lions of voices, which fancy would give to
the fiery tongues of this rushing Mons-
ter, as the cheering song of his death-deal
ing advance — but which stern reality tells
us are the frantic cries of droves and herds
of wild animals, of all species, mad with
afiright, all pressing forward together, pell-
mell, to escape one common, but ever con-
quering enemy.

Look yonder! There goee a stampede
of buffalo. Yonder! Another of wild
hones. How they tear ahead, with foam-
ing mauths, expanded nostrils, dilated eyes,
and a tread that makes the very earth trem-
ble beneath them t *

Look closer*— nearerl Here-<^here they
come!— <above us, before us, behind us, be-
neath us — on all and every side — birds,
beasts, reptiles and insects. How they
dart past us now with lolling tongues, and
fiery eyes half starting from their sockets,
entangling the very, legs of our hotses* and
c^unng them to^ rear, and plunge, and
siu>rt, and shriek^ with appalling terror!
Here are wolves^aad wolverines, and ra-.
bits, and boars, and serpouts— ^each and all

howling, i^rieking,; and hissing their
fears.
God of Heaven! what a scene!
On, on, for our only hope! Another
mile id passed: oh! that it were another—
the last! We near the haven of our safer
ty. Can we — shall we overreach it! be-
hold the Destroyer, where he comes! Up,
up to the mid-heaven now rolli> the smoke
of his conquest! and the sup ^rows dark
behind it, as he were mourning for the de-
struction he is forced to look upon.

Hark! what sound is that! — that roaring
sound! It is the voice of the Fire-Spirit,
as be were tnocking our hopes. Must we
die now, with safety almost within our
grasp! Why do our horses stagger and
reel! Have they not atrength for this last
effort! See! we are almost saved. Yon
hill looms up invitingly before us. Oh!
for atrength of another five minutes' dura*
tion! Five minutes — only five — an eter*
nity to us!

Hal the dense smoke is lowering upon
us, and we shall be suffocated! No! that
breeze drives it back. All thanks to God
for that! There is still hope.

On, on! stUl on! How swift is the
flame, and how tardy our horses! They
have no spirit, seemingly. They only
creep and craWl like snails. My fortune
all, to bold out another two minutes.

Ha! God help us now! Lilian's steed
reels— totters—stumbles — falls! She is
down. I hear her shriek for help. How
strangely that shriek mingles with the
roaring and crackling of this great prairie
fire! Now on my. feet I seize her hand.
Now my horse staggers under a double
weight. Bat he is a gallant beast; and
plunging forward, with a dying effort, falls
at the base of the knoll, which Elmer and
Eva have gained in advance of us. One.
desperate effort more, and Lilian, all un-
Cooscious of fear or danger, isborne in my
^rms into a dense thicket, where I sink up-
en the earth) and^^Jvalf stifled^ith smokoi
amid the roaring, of a mighty, conflagra-
tioiif U>ank God its Aamea can neilher readiL
me npr.the being! love.

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST-
CHAPTER XXIV.

ite

THE MEETING — ALARM FOR OUR FRIEKD8 —
A SCEKB OF DESOLATION — TERRIBLE SUS-
FBNSE — REGRETS — ^PRISONERS FOR A DAT
— ^A NIGHT OF HORROR — ^A GOLDEN MORN
— OUR STEPS RETRACED — HIDEOUS SPEC-
TAGLES--^UR WORST FEARS SEEMINGLY
CONFIRMED— JOT AT LAST.

No tongae can portray my feeliDgs, my
deep emotions of gratitude to the All-wise
Preserver, as, with the still unconscious
Lilian reposing in my arms, I remained
motionless a minute, enveloped in a pal)
of smoky darkness, listening to the roar of
the awful flames, that surged around and
onward, scorching the green leaves and
grass within a few feet, hut leaving me
unharmed. Once, for a moment, when
the smoke settled in so thick that day he-
eame night, and the air too much heated
for resph'ation, I fancied we might die of
suffocation. Rut it was only for a mo-
ment. A draught of wind revived me, and
lifted the smoke, which rolled away in
mighty masses after its master spirit, the
devouring element; while day-light again
streaming in through the interwoven
branches of this beautiful retretft, made
my heart bound with rapture at our safe
deliverance.

Lilian now opened her eyes, and for an
instant gazed upon me with a bewildered
expression. I strained iher to my heart,
pressed my lips to hers, and whispered:
" We are saved, dearest."
•« Savedl" she echoed: « Savedl Then
it was not a horrible dream, but a frightful-
ly hideous reality, at the thought of which
the soul sickens and grows faintV*

** All that language has power to depict
of the awful, it wafi^and ten times more."
" Lilian! Francis!" now called the voice
of Eva; and springing through the bushes,
accompanied by Elmer, she rushed up to
the former, threw her arms around her
neck, and each wept tears of joy in the
other's ev^brace.

<*But Evaline and Charles — what of
them?" csied Eva, looking up, pale with
alarm.
'< Gracious Godf shouted I/<what of

them indeed!" for In the frantic bewilder^
ment of the last few minutes, all thought
of every thing but escape from death, had
been driven from my mind. "Perchance
they have perished! Great God! what a
thought! To the brow of the hill let us
speed at once!^'

As I spoke, we all rushed up the aclivi-
ty, and soon gamed a point whence we
could gaze upon the desolated scene.-^
What a fearful change a few minutes had
wrought! Where, a short time since, all
was life and bean^ — the tall grass softly
undulating to the light«winged ^zephyr —
we now beheld only a blaok, smoking, dis-
mal waste, without a sign of living thing
to relieve its gloom. The fire had passed
us entirely; but away to the east, to the
north and the west, spread a dense cloud
of rolling smoke, amid which we could
perceive the lurid flashes of the Death-
dealing Victor, as on, on he sped, seeking
new victims to feed his insatiable maw.
Here and there, in every direction on his
smoking trail, were strewn the blackened
carcasses of such animals as had been
overtaken in their flight. At the foot of
the hill whereon we stood, in liie exact
spot where he had fallen, lay the remains
of the gallant beast which had borne me
through so many perils, and which, at the
very last, had saved my life at the expense
of his own. A few rods farther on was
the one Lilian had ridden, now an ungain-
ly mass of charred flesh. Altogether, it
was an appalling scene of desolation, that
made the heart s(ck to look upon.

All these things I took in at a glance,
but without dwelling upon them for a mo^
ment. One wild, maddening thought alone
occupied my brain. My friend and Eva-
line — were they lost or savedl What a
torturing uncertainty, where nothing could
be known! I strained my eyes, and vain-
ly strove to penetrate the sable veil which
curtained the view to the west. Allthere
was wrapped in the frightful gloom of im-
penetrable darkness. Perchance they
might be living, but even now in the ago-
nies of a most l^kJ^HIBcath ! — and T groan-
ed, and shuddfreB/ahd felt my brain grow
dizzy and jpay heart sicken at the bare pos-
sibility. • •

uo

LENI-LEOTI:

For some minutes we all stood and star-
ed as if rooted to the spot,, pale and speech-
less with the agony of suspense. At
length the smoke began to clear away be-
tween us and the point from whence we
had set out for the race. Alasj it brought
no hope, but rather despair. All, as else-
where, was black and lifeless, and we felt
our doubts removed by the worst of cer-
tainties.

" Oh, fatal day!" cried Eira, wringing
her hands; <* and most fatal adventure! —
Oh, God! my sister and friend lost! and
all through my rashness. Srong headed
and giddy, I would not heed his foreboding
counsels, but madly rushed away, dragging
him to his own death. May God in his
mercy forgive me! for I can never forgive
myself. Never — no, never — shall I be
happy again."

"Nay, dearest Eva," said Lilian consol-
ingly* twining her arms aropnd the other's
neck: " Nay, my dear sister — for a sister
to me you seem — do not reproach yourself
thus! You were to blame in this no more
than I, or the rest. You knew not, dream-
ed not, there was danger — neither did any
of us— and the forebodings of Charles were
merely vague fancies without even a foun-
dation. Had he warned us of certain dan-
ger known to himself, then we might have
been considered rash in disregarding his
counsel. As it is, I feel we have been
only the blind instruments in the hands of
the Almighty, for working out one of His
mysterious designs. But do not let us de-
spair. I still have hope that Charles and
Evaline are safe. They were far behind
us, and it is possible may have turned
back and gained yonder hill in safety."

**God send it be so!" ejaculated I —
" though I have my fears. But, Eva," I
added, " be the consequences what they
may, I insist you do not blame yourself.
K any one is to blamO) it is I."

** You, Francis] But you merely say
this to console me."

" Nay, I will prove it. But for my plan,
we had all ere this been far on our way to
Fort Laramie. It was I proposed to Eva-
line we should leave her alone with her
friends, and designated the spot whither
we would ride and await her. It was I

that made light of the prepentiment of
Huntly, and scoffed at his idea of danger.
So blame not yourself, Eva! Heaven
knows, the blow falls heavy enough upon
us all, without the additional weight of
either one thinking it the result of kis or
her individual misdoing."

" Ay," rejoined Elmer, "so think I- If
one is to blame, all are — but in my opin- .
ion, none are at fault;- and certainly not
you, Miss Mortimer."

But I will not follow in detail our gloomy
conversation, nor longer dwell u|^n our
feelings. Suffice, that for something like
an hour we stood watching the fire, as on
it rushed, away and away to the dim dis-
tance, until it became lost to our vision,
leaving behind it the most dismal scene I
had ever beheld.

Another hour passed, and still we stood
in the self-same spot, uncertain what course
to pursue. We had eagerly scanned every
object, and stpined our eyes in every di-
rection, in the hope of being rejoiced by
the sight of one living thin^. But the
hope proved fallacious. All was silent,
and black, and motionless, on this great
field of death and desolation.

But what should be doi^e, was now the
all important question. The earth was
still smoking with heat, and the sun, in
mid-heaven, pouring down his scorching
rays, with scarcely a reviving breath of
air; so that we could not venture from
our shady retreat with any safety. Be-
sides, but two of our horses had been
spared, and these were so exhausted as to
be of no service to us for the day at least.

How long the earth would remain heat-
ed, we could not tell; but in all probabili-
ty till the day should become too far ad-
vanced for us to gain another safe point
ere nightfall — in which event, we would
again be in imminent danger from the ra-
venous beasts, that would come with the
darkness to prey upon the half>burnt car-
casses of their fellows. In view of all
this, there appeared no alternative but to
remain where we were over night, and
make the best of the circumstances we
could not alter.

This, after the proposal, discission and
final rejection of several plans, was at last

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

ni

ralactantly consented to, when Elmer and
myself immediately set about constructing
a rude lodge for Lilian and Eva, who, to
their praise be it said, bure their misfor-
tunes with a firm, patient and heroic re-
signation, that would have won our admi-
ration, even had we, in every other respect,
been wholly indifferent to their many no-
ble charms.

Our present asylum was a beautiful and
romantic spot, of some half a dozen acres
in extent, watered by a fine spring, shaded
with trees, and carpeted with a velvet-like
sward of sweet, green grass, interspersed
with white, red, purple, yellow and gold
colored flowers. In short, it seemed a
Garden of Eden on an arid waste; and
had our friends been with us, or even had
we been assured of their safety, wo could
have spent, the night here with pleasure.

With our hunting-knives we cut several
withes, and bending over a few saplings,
bound them together so as to form a regu-
lar arbor, which we roofed with bushes,
leaves and turf, sufficiently to keep off the
dew at least. With our rifles, which we
fortunately had with us, we next ransack-
ed the bushes, and were successful in sca-
ring up and shooting some two or three
hares, which we dressed and cooked, and
found very palatable — the more so, per-
haps, that we had eaten nothingf since
morning— our provisions for the journey
havincf been left with our mules.

During the day we saw nothing of our
companions, and as night slowly shut in
the scene, we gradually began to lose the
faint hope that had thus far been our con-
solation. True, if saved, the same cause
which prevented us, might also them, from
venturing forth upon what seemed almost
certain destruction. But there was no
certainty — no, scarcely a possibility — they
had escaped; and this torturing thought,
added to our lonely situation and the sur-
rounding gloom, made us wretched with
despair.

Oh! what an awful night was this we
passed in the wilderness! One which,
were we to live a thousand years, would
ever be a yesterday to us, so deeply and
painfully was it engraven upon the outer
tablets of our memories. To add gloom.

as it were, to accumulated horrors, a dark,
angry cloud began to spread along the
western horizon, from which shot vivid
flashes of lightning, followed by the boom-
ing roar of heavy thunder, as if the spirits
of the air, bent on making " assurance
doubly sure," were now marshaling their
grand reserve-forces to triumph over a
vanquished foe.

On, on came the Storm-King, flinging
out his black banners in advance, and veil-
ing the light of Heaven's starry host, as
if unwilling one single thing should be
left undone to make his triumph most dis-
mally, impressively terrible. On, on he
came, amid the almost incessant flashes
and thunders of his mighty artillery!

Huddled together in our rude arbor, be-
fore which blazed a lurid, flickering flame,
that gave our pale features an unearthly
appearance, and made our grim shadows
dance fantastically behind us, like dark
spirits in a hellish revel, we sat and gazed
upon vacancy, silent with emotions too
deep for utterance.

Now the storm was at its hciorht. Sheet
upon sheet of the hot lightning, flashing
in our faces, blinded our eyes; peal upon
peal of crashing thunder, shaking the
earth beneath, almost deafened us with its
roar; while the rain, pouring down in tor-
rents, thoroughly drenche/l and stiffened
our cramped up bodies and limbs.

For two hours thus we remained in
breathless awe, motionless and silent, ere
the storm abated its fury; and then only,
as it were, that wo might hear the bowl-
ings of surrounding wolves, which, to our
distorted fancies, seemed the loud wail-
ings of the damned over the final wreck
of Nature.

Serenely the morning broke upon the
night, and the sun again rose as bright
and golden as if nothing had happened.
Never was a day hailed with more joy. —
With the first streak of light, we caught
our two overridden horses, and found, to
our great delight, that they were still cap-
able of performing a heavy task. Mount-
ing two on each, we set out over the black-
ened plain to retraceour steps, and, if pos-
sible, gain some tidings of our friends.

For an hour or more we saw nothlDg to

112

LENI-LEOTI:

attract particular attention, when Budden-
]f Eva uttered a fearful 6hriek, and point-
ing to an object before us, cried:

" My God! loolc on that!"

We did look, with dilated eyes, and felt
our blood freeze with horror. It was the
blackened and mangled corse of a human
being — ^probably the remains of one of our
companions of the previous day. A few
feet from it lay-the half-eaten carcass of a
horse, too fatally Confirming our suspi-
cions.

Elmer and I dismounted and examined
the body of the unfortunate young man;
but all trace by which we might identify
it was lost; and with a sickening shudder
and trembling steps, we passed on, with
such feelings as none can ever more than
faintly imagine.

About a mile from this, we came upon

the carcass of a horse, beside which lay

the stirrups of a saddle, several scraps of

burnt leather, and, oh Qod! another hu-

'man body!

" Another victim!" groaned Fitzgerald,
covering his eyes to shut out the hideous
spectacle. " Who next!"

"Great God!" gasped I, "should the
next be Charles and E valine! But come,
Fitzgerald! this is a trial unfitted for la-
dies. See! both Lilian and Eva seem
ready to fall from their horses! Let us
mount and away, and take them from this
awful scene. If we gain no tidings of
our friends when we reach the Wahsochees,
we will at least get some of them to as-
sist us in the painful task of searching for
their remains.

Shaping our course more to the right,
we rode away over the plain, fearful to
look beneath our feet, lest our eyes might
chance upon another revolting spectacle.
In the course of a couple of hours, we had
passed the first hill, leaving it away to our
left, and were fast nearing the second, the
point from whence we had first viewed the
beautiful prairie, in all the enchantment
of its loveliness only the morning pre-
vious, and which we had fix^d on for our
rendezvous, in cas^0:we became separated,
little dreaming, in "our merry thoughtless-
ness, of the mighty calamity hanging over
us, an4 vhat grim Death was eyeii tbei)

invisibly stalking in our midst to select
his victims. Suddenly Lilian exclaimed:

"God be thanked! they live!" and over-
come with joyful emotions, she could only
point her finger and faintly add: " See!
see!"

"Ay, thank God!" cried I, "they are
saved!" and I pointed to Charles and Eva-
line, whom we now descried rushing down
the hill before us, followed by some fifteen
or twenty of the Mysterious Tribe.

Five minutes later, we stood clasping
each other, weeping and speechless with

joy-

. CHAPTER XXV.

THE ESCAPE — RETURN TO THE FORT — JOY —
THE DEAD ALIVE^— HOMEWARD BOUND—
THE ROUTE — REFLECTIONS — DESTINATION
GAINED — HAPPY MEETING.

It is unnecessary for me to dwell upon
this rapturous meeting, one of the most
joyful I had ever experienced. No one
can conceive our feelings, but such as have
been placed in like situations. Each par-
ty had looked upon the other as dead, and
mourned their loss accordingly; and it was
with tears of gratitude for our deliverance
from an awful fate, that we narrated to
each other the manner of escape. That
of Charles and Evaline was briefly as fol-
lows.

At the time they discovered the fire, they
were some four miles in our rear, and at
least two behind the hindmost of the par-
ty. Made aware of their danger, they
sought to avert it by flight; and as the hill
behind them was the nearest elevated
point, they had striven to gain it in ad-
vance of the flames. In this they had
been disappointed. The fire, driven by a
strong breeze of its own creating, rushed
forward with such frightful velocity, that
when within a mile or so of the desirable
point, they found, to their dismay and hor-
ror, all hope of escape in that quarter cut
off.

" Imagine my feelings," said Huntly, aa
he told me the tale, " when> all hope of

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WEST.

lit

Mcape oyer, I threw roy arm around the
waiot of Evaline, and pointing to the
flamee, which, driven forward by a strong
breeze, had already passed the hill to the
westward and were fast sviweping around
to enclose it with a fiery wall — when, I
say, viewing all this, with the calmness of
utter despair, I whispered;

" ' At least, dear Evaline, we will die to-
gether,'

"'Rather say live together,* she ex-
elaimed, ' if you have any means of strik-
ing fire.'

*• * Only a pistol,* I replied.

" * That will do,* she answered. * Quick!
let us dismount, tear up the grass around
us, and fire it.'

" In an instant,** pursued Huntly, " I
comprehended all; and springing from my
horse, with hope renewed, labored as
a man may, when his own life and that of
another more valuable are depending on
his exertions. In two minutes a small
spot was cleared, and placing my pistol
within a bunch of torn up grass, I <fired.
The flash ignited it, and a bright flame
shooting upward, caught on all sides, and
sped away on its work of death, leaving
a blackened circle, within which we step-
ped and remained unharmed. As soon as
the fire had passed, we remounted and
dashed over the heated earth to the hill
before us, where, like yourselves, we pass-
ed a terrible night of agonized suspense.
Not having seen any signs of you or the
rest of the party during the day, we final-
ly came to the melancholy conclusion that
all were lost, and at day-break this morn-
ing set off for the Indian village with the
heart-rending intelligence. Some twenty
of the tribe at once volunteered to go
back with us; and on this sad journey we
had already set out, when, to our unspeak-
able joy, we espied you galloping over the
plain, and hastened to meet you.*'

"Strange!'* said I, in reply, "that I
should have overlooked a means of escape
80 simple as firing the prairie! It would
have saved us a world of trouble; but from
the first I lost my presence of mind, and
thought of nothing but escape by flight.
Alas! for our companions! Have you
seen any of them, Charlesl**

" Not one,'* he answered, with a sigh.

" TheUs.! fear all have perished!"

" What are we to do under the circum-
stances J" he inquired.

" Why, I think we had better set out
for Fort Laramie at once; for our friends
there, even now, are doubtless becoming
exceedingly uneasy at our long absence."

"And leave the bones of our late com-
panions to bleach on the open prairie,
Frankr*

"No! We must get the Indians to
hunt up their bodies and give them decent
bhrial:"

This plan was finally adopted; and in
the course of a couple of hours, we had
again parted with the Wahspchees, and
were on our return to the fort.

The journey proved a tedious one, for
all were sad and silent with gloomy
thoughts. Travelling some thirty miles,
we encamped, and resuming our route the
next morning, reached the fort in the af-
ternoon of the same day.

As we rode into the area, the inmates
all rushed out to greet and welcome us,
and among them came Mrs. Huntly and
Madame Mortimer, almost frantic with
joy. At first, we were at a loss to com-
prehend the cause of this ettong ebullition
of feeling; but did nut long remain in ig-
norance; for the next moment, descrying
two of our late companions in the crowd,
the whole truth flashed upon us.

"Oh, my children! my children!" ex-
claimed Mrs. Huntly; and overcome with
her feelii'gs, sho'could only first clasp one
and then the other to her heart in silence.

"Mv daughtera! and do I indeed see you
alive againi" cried Madame Mortimer,
pressing Eva and Evaline to her panting
breast. " Oh! could you but know a mo-
ther's agony for the last twenty-four hours,
during which she has mourned you as dead,
you would never leave her again."

But not to dwell upon this afiTectionate
meeting, it will only be necessary to state,
that two of the papty whom we supposed
dead, had escaped, by flying from the field
and taking refuge on the ridge to the north.
Here they had p'aused for a few minutes,
to gaze upon the sublime scene of the
burning plain; and then, believing all saye

i

114

LENI-LEOTI:

themselTes had perished, had made the
beet of their way ba(!k to the fort and to
reported. No wonder, then, there was
sarprise, and joy, and unusual commotion,
on beholding in us the dead alive, the lost
ones found.

The second day following our return,
we again set out on our homeward jour-
ney, in company with a small party of emi-
gprants who had recently crossed over the
mountains from California. For several
days my friends and myself were unusual-
ly thoughtful and serious; but as we near-
ed the confines of civilization, and felt we
were about to quit the wilderness, with all
its hardships and perils, to mingle with
scenes more suited to our tastes, our spir*
its gradually grew buoyant with the seem-
ingly unalloyed happiness of youthful days.

Never shall I forget the singular feel-
ings we experienced — I speak of Huntly
and myself — as we rode into the small
town of Independence, Missouri, and re-
called the many striking events of the
long period which had intervened since
last we beheld the place. Then, giddy
with the wildness of youth-^alone— free
from restraint — with no tie stronger than
the filial, binding us to any one particular
spot — we were just setting forth upon a
new world of adventure! — Now, sobered
by painful experience, and in company
with those we loved, we were retracing
our steps, perfectly satisfied there was " no
place like home," £nd no scenes so dear
to us as those of our native land. We
had seen danger in every form, suffered
all that we could suffer and live, had had
our souls tried by the sternest tests, been
miraculously preserved through all, bless-
ed beyond our deserts, and now felt con-
tented to le'ave the field forever to such as
might fancy it, and retire to the sweet se-
clusion of domestic lifb.

The countenance of Evaline, as day by
day we progressed toward the east, gradu-
ally brightened with a sweeter happiness
than she had ever known — the happiness
of being with her mother and sister — of
knowing she was not a nameless being,
cast astray by some untoward freak of for-
tune — of feeling she loved and was in
turn beloved. She was now eaterlng a

world where every thing, opening up new
and strange, filled her with wonder, exci-
ted her curiosity, and kept her in a con-
tinual slate of pleased excitement. Eva
was happy ' in the company of one who
could appreciate her noble qualities, and
lend her those afifectionate and tender sym-
pathies which the ardent soul ever craves,
and without which it languishes, and droops,
and feels there is a mighty void within. —
Lilian was happy, and my vanity some-
times whispered me a reason therefor. In
sooth, by the time we reached St. Louis,
there was not a sad heart in the party—
unless, in a reflective mood, a dark shadow
from the past might chance to sweep across
it for a moment — only, as it were, to make
it seem more bright in the glorious sun-
shjne of the present.

With what emotions of wonder and joy
did Evaline view those mighty leviathians,
that, by the genius and mechanism of man,
are made to play upon the mighty rivers
of the Great West, and bear him on his
journey as he passes to and fro to all por-
tions of the habitable globe! And then
the delight we all felt, as we glided down
the turbid waters of the great Mississippi,
and steered up the beautiful Ohio, past
villages, and towns, and cities, where the
pleasing hum of civilization, in every breast
save one, awoke sweet memories of form-
er days, and made our hearts bound with
pleasing anticipations of what was yet to
come.

On, on we swept up the Ohio, past the
flourishing cities of Louisville and Cincin-
nati, (making only a short stay at each) to
that of Pittsburgh, where our steamer was
exchanged for another, that for the stage,
to bear us over the romantic Allegbanies,
and that in turn for the rushing car. to
land us in Baltimore, again in Philadel-
phia, and lastly in that great emporium of
the western continent, New York. And
so on, on — ever changing, continually pro-
gressing — ^toward the golden haven of our
desires — which. Heaven be praised! we at
last reached in safety.

During the latter part of the journey,
my feelings beer me very sad. I was Hear-
ing the home of my youth;— the abode of
my dearly loved parents — after many long

i

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE PAR WESTi

in

yevn of pAinfiil and eventful separation.
What changes might not have occurred
in the interval! Changes, peradventure,
to rend my heart with anguish. My par-
ents — ^my affectionate mother — my kind
and indulgent father — ^how I trembled to
think of them! What if, as in the case
of my friends, one or both had been call-
ed from the scenes of earth, and were now
sleeping their last sleep in the mouldering
church-yard~-never to bless me more with
the soft light of their benign eyes! Oh!
what a heart sickening feeling, of almost
utter desolation, the very thought of it
produced! until I forced myself to think
no more, lest I should lack physical
strength to* bear me on to the knowledge
I longed yet dreaded to gain.

Pressing invitations from us, and I
scarcely need add a more eloquent persua-
sion from the soft, dark eyes of another,
had induced Elmer Fitzgerald to extend
his journey a few hundred miles beyond
his original intention. Arrived in the city,
we all took rooms at a hotel, until such
time as we could notify our friends of our
pr>esence — or rather, until I could see my
parents, if living, in advance of the others.

With a heart palpitating with hope and
fear, I hurried into a carriage, and order-
ing the driver not to spare his Horses, lean-
ed back on my seat, and gave myself up
to the most intense and painful medita-
tions-— occasionally listening to the rum-
bling of the swift whirling wheels, and
wondering when they would cease their
motion at their present destination— -or
gazing from the window at the thousand
objects flitting past me, with that vague
look of the occupied mind, which takes in
each thing distinctly, and yet seems to see
nothing whatever.

" Crack went the whip, round went the
wheels,'* and on we sped at the same rapid
pace. At length my attention was arrest-
ed by objects familiar from my boyhood,
and my heart seemed to creep to my throat,
for I knew I was close upon the mansion
of my father. A few moments of breath-
less suspense, and the carriage stopped
suddenly, the door swung open, and, leap-
ing out, I rushed up the steps and into the
dwelling of my parents.

Two minutes later, nnannouneed, I stood
in the presence of both, but saw I was
not recognized.

** Mother! father!*' I cried, " have yo«
forgotten your long absent son!'*

There was a brief moment of speech-
less, joyful amazement, and the next I was
in my mother's arms, while my father
stood by, pressing my hand and wssping
as a child.

2* A

f

CHAPTER XXVI.

A OOROEOUS SCBHE — THE MTSTEBT SOLVED
« — FORTUNE VROPITJOUS — RAFFIXESS —
THE FINALE. %

Reader! I am about to close-r-about to
present to you the last scene of scenes It
shall ever give of this my drama of life. M.
I am about to bid you farewell, perchance
forever. May I not trust we part as
friends? — as boon companions, who have
together made a long pilgrimage, with an - '^|
ever cordial attachment and friendly un- j^^
derstanding? From the land of my na-
tivity, you have followed me through a pe-
riod of years, over the wilderness of the
far. Far West, back again to my native
land. You have seen me in prosperity
and adversity — in sickness and health — in
moments of ease and safety — in moments
of hardship and peril — in the calmness
of quiet meditation, and amid the turmoil,
and strife, and din of battle. From ^rst
to last, I have been ever present to you—
made you mj conOdent — laid bare to your
gaze the secret workings of my ardent
spirit. May I not trust I have had your
sympathy] that you have felt an interest
in my^fate, and also in the fate of those
with whom my fortune has been so close-
ly connected! Yes! I will trust we part
as friends — that when you have perused
the last page of this, my humble scroll,
you will not cast it aside as altogether
worthless — that you will long after spare
me and my friends a single thought of
pleasing remembrance. I cannot see you
— cannot hear your answer — and yet some-
thing whispers me it is as I desire — that

i

<*:;

lltf

JiENI-LEOTI:

we thall ndt separate bot with mutaal re-
grets. Be this as it may, the farewell
must be said — ^the solemn farewell —

" That word which must be and hath been—
That aound which malLet m linger.**

« 1^ « «

It was a brilliant scene. In a large sa-
loon, made gorgeous with all the luxuries
wealth could procure from all parts of the
habitable globe— with soft carpets from
Turkej, antique vases from China, old
paintings from Germany, and statues from
Florence — with long hanging mirrors, that
doubled the splendors of the scene — with
ehairs, and sofas, and ottomans, cushion-
ed with the softest and most costly of v^-
▼ets — with every thing, A short, to please,
dazzle, and fascinate the eye— over which
streamed a soft, bewitching, alabaster
light — where strains of melodious music
stole sweetly upon the enraptured sense
of the hearer; — in such a gorgeous apart-
ment as thisv I say, were collected bright
faces, sparkling eyes, snowy arms, and
lovely formd-o-set off with vestures of
broadclotbs, and silks, and satins, and or-
namented with Chains of gold, and jewels
of diamond, and ruby, and pearl, and sap-
phire. Ay! in such a place as this — in
the mansion of my father— -were assem-
bled the elite of Boston, to witness the
nuptials of Evaline and tllharles, Eva and
Elmer, Lilian and myself.

Need I dwell upoji the scene? Need I
say it was as happy as gorgeousi Need
I add, that the fair maidens, led to the al-
tar, looked more swe^t and lovely than
any had ever before seen theii?» No! it
is unnecessary for me to enter into detail
here, for the quick perception of the r^a-

When all had at last become quiet, aad
none were present bot the newly married
and their nearest and dearest relatives:

" Now," said Madame Mortimer, with a
bland smile, ** to add pleasure to pleasure
-*to make the happy happier — I have a
joyful surprise for you all.*'

*< Permit me to doubt," said I, ** if aught
any one can say, can in any degree add to
Abe happiness of those here present. I
look upon the thing as impossible. How-
ever, I msy be too confident; but, at least,
I speak for myself."

** And yet,'* pursued the other, smiling
archly, " would it not add pleasure even to
you, Francis, were I to tell you a dark
mystery has been cleared up, and a wrong
matter set rightl"

•< What mean yout" asked I, while the
rest turned to her with eager curiosity.

« What would you think, should J bow
proceed to prove to you, my friends, that
the person you have long known as Mad-
ame Mortimer, is from this time forth to
be known as Marchioness of Lombardyl"
<<How1 what] speak!" exclaimed one
and all in a breath.

•< Ay, such is the fact. Since my re-
turn, I have received letters from England
and France, stating that my late husband
—for he is now dead— was none oUier
than the Marquis of Lombardy, who was
banished from France for some state in-
trigue, and afterwards restored to favor.
Fearing, before his death, that some future
revolution might again endanger his prop-
erty,.hc managed to dispose of sufficient
to purchase a large estate in England,
which he has generously bequeathed to
me and my heirs forever. Accompanying
his will, which I have now in ray posses-

der will divine all i would say. Enough, < sion, is a long letter, in which he asks for-

that the rough scenes of the witd^rness,
through which we. had ^lassed, could not
be more strongly contrasted than on this
never-to^be-forgotten occasion of unalloy-
ed happiness.

The solemn nuptial 'rite was followed
with congratulations — with music, and
dancing, and festivities-^^and it was long
past the noon of night, ere the well plea-
sed guesjLs departed, and a small circle of
happy friends were left to themselves.

giveness for the wrong he had formerly
done me in keparation, and wherein he
states as a reason for never mentioning
his title, that at some future time he had
designed taking me by surprise; but that
the news of the restoration of himself
and fortune, coming at a moment when
his worst passions were excited, he had
left me in an abrupt manner, taking Eva-
line with him, whom, he sorrowfully adds,
was afterwards lost or murdered; that of

OR, ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST.

Uiia foul deed he had alwajB euBpected
near reUtioD of bia — a villain wholtrougl
him the intelligence of his fortune being
restored — and that in consequence he hail
taken what precautiooa he could, to put
hie property, incase of hieaudden decease,
entirelj beyond the other's reach. This,
my frienda, is all I will tell you tonight:
bat to-morrow jou shall hare proof" of a^
I hare B&id. And now, my dauKhtera,
that you are happily wedded, I give jou
this estate a^ a marriage portion,

I will not dwell upon the
joyful iurpriae which (hia revelation eici-
ted in the hearts of those who beard it.
Sufflce, that it did add pleaaure to plea-
awe, aid made tba hapj)y happier.

IIT

, and I have done.
The words of the MarchtoBeaa of Lombar-
dy were subsequently verified in every
particular, and Charles Huntly, and Elniar
FiiEgerald, have had no cause, thus far,
even in a pecuniary point of view, to re-
gret the choice they made in the wilder-
ness of the Far West. Propitious fortune
now smiles upon all, and all are bappy.

Thus is it ever. To-day we rise — to-
morrow fall — to rise again percbanc* the
next. Prosperity and advcrElt; are ever so
closely linked, that the most trivial eveut
may make or mar our happinesa. The
Paal we kn'bw — the PreEent we see — but
who shill Hay ai^bt of tbe Future.

80 enda the senile.

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